


What About Us?

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barson, Bensler, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 21:06:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13889121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: This takes place a little more than a year after Barba's farewell, and visits the idea of Rafael Barba and Elliot Stabler returning to Benson's life at the same time. This is a Barson fic, at its core.





	What About Us?

Lt. Olivia Benson had been filling in at the Bronx SVU for over a week, and she was anxious to get back home to her own squad. The commute made her days even longer, meaning she had less time with her son. The detectives, while generally good at their jobs, were overworked, understaffed, and not _her_ detectives.

She knew about being understaffed and underfunded during her tenure at Manhattan SVU, but she’d quickly come to realize that the Bronx unit was in worse shape. Now, with their captain out on emergency medical leave and their sergeant on maternity leave, Benson was subbing as a favor to the chief. She’d left Sergeant Tutuola—Fin—in charge of her squad, and while she had complete confidence in him and her team, she couldn’t wait to return to her own office, in her own squad room, in her own borough, and to be surrounded by detectives who knew what she wanted when she looked at them.

“Lieutenant?”

Benson looked up from the captain’s desk she’d temporarily claimed as her own. She took her glasses off and set them on the file, looking at the man in the doorway. “Yes, Martinez?”

“We got a girl at county who says she was raped, she disclosed to the RA at Hudson and he called unis, they picked her up and took her—”

“In a squad car?” Benson asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Martinez answered. “They questioned her while the rape kit was being done, apparently they’re rookies and the nurse was…less than impressed, so she called us herself. Johnson’s going to head to the hospital now, she’ll get a full statement and see how bad they screwed up.”

Benson bit back all the things that wanted to tumble from her tongue—comments on chain of command, procedure, victim processing—she reminded herself for the millionth time that these detectives had as much experience as hers did, for the most part, and her position in their chain of command was temporary. Still, she hated being left out of the loop.

“Also, the suspect’s on his way, they’re bringing him in.”

She blinked, surprised. “What suspect?” she asked.

“The girl’s rapist.”

Benson pushed to her feet. “Was he caught in the act?” she asked.

“No, the assault happened around 2am, according to the girl. She didn’t go to the RA until almost ten. She told him the guy’s name, and apparently right after the unis picked her up, the guy showed up looking for her? The RA told him she’d been taken to the hospital, told him she’d accused him of rape.”

“He _told him he was accused_ ,” Benson said. She couldn’t really claim to be surprised—hardly anything surprised her, anymore.

“He—the RA—knows him, apparently, everyone does, but the RA called the police again. The guy waited there.”

“He waited. To be arrested.”

“Right. Kept asking if she was alright, saying he needed to talk to her, didn’t ask for a lawyer or anything. You want me to start—”

“No,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck with a wince. “Tell Johnson to hold off, I’ll go talk to the vic.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, and she tried not to bristle. The truth was, she needed to get out of the office that wasn’t really hers, away from the detectives who weren’t really hers.

“Yes. When the perp gets here, put him in interrogation but nobody question him until I get back.”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant,” he said, and then she was alone. She sighed, closing her eyes.

She was tired, and it wasn’t just the long hours, or the extra caseloads. She’d been tired for a long time. Lately, the fatigue seemed to have settled into her bones. She’d thought that a stint in the Bronx would help, but it had actually made things worse. She wanted to go home and hug her son, but it was even more than that. She’d considered taking a vacation, packing Noah up and going to stay somewhere—in the mountains, or on a beach, anywhere out of the city—for a week or two, but if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t think it would help. She didn’t know what could touch the weariness; it was a part of her, now.

 

*       *       *

 

“We met at this frat party last weekend. He was nice—he seemed nice. Polite, you know, good manners, not like a lot of the frat guys. He used to be military, I could tell. He doesn’t have the haircut anymore but there’s always something in the posture, you know—well, I guess you know, cops and military guys, you can always spot ‘em, you know?”

“This was last weekend, you said?” Benson asked, watching the young woman—Marcy—fidgeting with a cup of cooling coffee. “You hadn’t seen him or talked to him before?”

“No, I don’t go to Hudson,” Marcy answered, glancing up. “I just went to the party with a friend, and Rich came over to talk to me and, I mean, he was cute and everything, polite,” she repeated. “I…went back to his dorm with him,” she admitted, quietly, frowning into her cup. “His roommate was gone.”

“Okay, Marcy, what happened wasn’t your fault. Even if you had consensual sex with him before—”

“I did,” she said. “We did. He seemed sweet. He tried to call a couple of times this week, but…I didn’t answer. I don’t know why. I just got the impression that maybe he thought it was more serious than I did. I wasn’t looking for anything…more…”

“But you did give him your number?” Benson asked, gently.

“Yeah, I—yeah, but after a couple calls I thought he gave up. Then last night he called again, and I…I guess I felt bad, and figured I should tell him that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, but I could tell he’d been drinking. I agreed to meet him because he sounded…I don’t know, sad or lonely or something. But when I got there, he started trying to kiss me and stuff, and I kept…telling him to stop, that’s not why I was there, I tried to tell him I just wanted to be friends but that just seemed to make him mad—”

“Where were you, in his room again?”

“Yeah. It’s funny, I asked him why he didn’t have an apartment, teased him about being too old for a dorm—last weekend, when he was nice—and he said he wanted the full college experience. Am I part of that, now?” she asked, looking up at Benson, and the lieutenant’s stomach churned at the question. “Anyway, yeah, we were in his room again. Just the two of us. I said no, and he…he pushed me onto the bed and…he pushed my skirt up…I tried to yell but he put his hand over my mouth and…he’s so much stronger than me. So strong. And I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t stop him. And I guess I just…froze.”

“That’s perfectly normal,” Benson said. “Your body goes into survival mode. Marcy, what happened to you, what he did to you—”

“I know, it wasn’t my fault,” she cut in. “But I’m the idiot who went to his room when he was drunk.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“I didn’t leave.”

“What do you mean?”

Marcy sniffed, shifting on the edge of the bed, frowning at the coffee. “After he…finished, he fell asleep or passed out or whatever. And I was just…”

“It’s alright.”

“I just stayed there for I don’t even know how long, listening to him snoring. I…I don’t know why. I was afraid he would wake up if I tried to move but I…”

“It’s alright,” Benson repeated.

“I didn’t even try. And then I guess it was morning, I don’t even know how that happened, I didn’t fall asleep, I was just, like…zoned out, and then he woke up and he started talking to me like nothing was wrong and at first I thought maybe he didn’t remember because he’d been drunk but then I guess he knew I was upset and he started to say he was sorry and I didn’t say anything back and then…he said I could stay as long as I wanted but he had to go to class and he got dressed and just left me in his dorm. I thought maybe someone would come but no one ever did. Finally I got up and I was going to leave but when I was in the hallway I saw the sign for the RA and I knew I had to say something or he might do it to someone else, and I was scared because I didn’t know the guy or what he might say or do but I knocked on the door and he knew something was wrong as soon as he saw me. I think I started shaking or crying or something. I told him Rich’s name and he called the cops and they took me to the hospital.” She fell silent, turning her cup in her hands.

“Marcy, do you know if he used a condom?”

“I’m not sure…”

“Okay. The report says there were no—”

“Yeah, yeah, I think he must’ve,” she said. “I didn’t feel him…you know…when he…”

“Alright. Marcy, I’m going to have an officer get you something to eat and give you a ride home. Here’s my card, if you need anything, or think of anything else, give me a call. My detectives have Rich at the station, I’m going to be questioning—”

“You do?” she asked, straightening, her eyes widening. “He’s there?”

“He is,” Benson said. “You don’t have to worry. Do you have any family you can—”

“No, no, there’s no one,” the girl said, shaking her head. She seemed agitated, and after a moment, she slid off the bed and set her cup on the end table. “I need to get out of here—”

“Okay, what about your friend who went to the party with you? What’s her name?” Benson asked.

“I don’t want to call anyone,” Marcy answered, grabbing her purse and jacket from the chair. “I just want to go home.”

“Of course. If you have all of your stuff, I’ll have—”

“No, I’ll take a cab.”

“Marcy, talk to me. Is something—”

“I want to be alone.”

“That might not be the best—”

“Look, I appreciate your concern, okay? I just…need to get out of here.”

Benson felt the weariness pressing down on her. “We might need you to come in to the station,” she said.

“I will. I promise. I just need to think.”

“If you need anything—”

“I know. Thanks,” Marcy answered.

Benson lowered her head as the young woman walked out. She stood there for several moments, gathering her thoughts. She had the beginnings of a headache thudding dully behind her temples, and she tried to remember when she’d last eaten. After a minute, she lifted her chin and left the hospital room. Marcy’s alleged rapist was at the precinct, and while Benson knew that Martinez could handle an interrogation, she was determined to do it herself. She needed to keep busy.

 

*       *       *

 

As soon as she was back at the precinct, she headed toward the interrogation room, curious about the man who’d waited with the RA to be picked up on rape allegations. He was in the room alone, sitting at the table with his head in his hands. He hadn’t officially been charged, and Johnson said he hadn’t asked for a lawyer. Benson hadn’t read the report, yet. She never went into an interrogation without knowing anything about the suspect, but she was considering doing so, now. She wanted to get started. She wanted to finish. She wanted him to confess while it was still early enough for the DA to file charges—

“I need to know where you’re keeping Richard—”

Benson went completely still, every nerve-ending suddenly tingling at the familiar voice behind her. Her stomach clenched even as her heart kicked into overdrive. For a moment, she couldn’t move.

He’d stopped abruptly, his sentence unfinished, and she knew that he’d seen her. That he’d recognized her, even from behind, even after all the time that had passed. She could feel his shock, hanging in the air, a palpable thing—even before seeing his face.

“Are you his lawyer?” Martinez asked, sounding confused.

Benson forced herself to turn.

And there he stood, looking as though he’d been slapped. His suit was boring, with none of the flair he’d once displayed. His tie was loose and crooked. His hair was short but ungelled. His face was tanned, as though he’d finally gotten some sun. He looked both rested and tired, a combination she couldn’t have explained in words but one she recognized immediately.

Martinez was looking back and forth between them, clearly puzzled and uncomfortable.

“Liv.”

“Barba,” she answered. Seeing him was painful, but it wasn’t a pain that was altogether _bad._ She’d wanted for so long to lay eyes on him, if only to assure herself that he was alive and well.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice soft as he searched her face.

She never would’ve thought it possible to feel every single emotion at once, and yet there was no other way to explain the turmoil taking place within her. And she knew, looking at him, that he was experiencing something similar. That didn’t make it easier; it somehow made it worse.

“Filling in for a few more days,” she said, and her voice sounded almost normal. A little shaky, perhaps, but maybe he wouldn’t notice. She nearly laughed at the thought, and bit the hysterical sound back—knowing that if it bubbled out of her, she wouldn’t be able to control whatever might follow. Rafael Barba, not noticing a tremor in her voice—not noticing _anything_ —was a laughable thought. “You’re—working defense?” she asked, trying to make sense of the situation.

He shifted his feet, tapping his briefcase against his thigh. “Gloria Griggs called me, from Hudson University. I’ve worked with her through Project Innocence and a few charities around the city. She asked me to come down and talk to this kid,” he said, gesturing toward the interrogation room. “Says she’s known him, doesn’t think he’s good for it.”

“So this is a personal favor,” she said, hating the oily feeling slithering in her belly. He didn’t answer as he held her gaze. “Charity work, Project Innocence,” she said. “Sounds like you’ve been working on that Catholic guilt.” She saw him wince, and was both sorry and glad. “Rafael Barba, defending rapists,” she added.

“Alleged,” he said. “Has he been questioned?”

“Not yet. I just got back from taking the victim’s statement. So you’ve been overturning convictions?” The name Gloria Griggs was familiar, but Benson hadn’t seen Barba on the news; he must’ve been keeping a low profile. She knew well why he would want to keep his name out of the papers.

“Helping exonerate—”

“Any of ours?”

He fell silent, regarding her. She let the silence stretch out, and could feel the discomfort in the room. “No,” he finally said. He gestured toward the room with his case. “May I?” he asked, even though they both knew he didn’t need permission.

“By all means,” she said, stepping aside and sweeping out her hand.

He walked toward her with none of his typical swagger. His steps were unsure, and he chewed the inside of his cheek. He hesitated as he drew even with her, casting her a quick sideways look. “It’s good to see you, Liv,” he said, his lips barely moving. Before she could answer—before she could even think of _how_ to answer—Martinez was escorting him into the interrogation room, and she was left standing alone, feeling shaky and hurt and confused—and somehow exhilarated at the same time.

 

*       *       *

 

She still hadn’t read the report. It was on her desk, but she couldn’t focus. She’d downed several aspirin and half a bottle of water to combat the headache, but her mind was going in a million directions at once. She couldn’t even keep track of how much time had passed; all she knew was that she couldn’t wait any longer. It had been over a year since she’d seen Rafael Barba, and even though she couldn’t sort through what she was feeling about his reappearance in her life, she needed to look at his face. They were in the same building, and she needed to look at him.

Benson knocked once before walking into the room, and she caught Barba’s gaze as soon as she stepped inside. Anyone else, any other lawyer, might’ve given her hell for interrupting a conversation with a client. Barba just looked at her, though, as he read her silent challenge; his eyes softened even as his expression tightened, and there were a million things she wanted to say to him. It wasn’t the time, but would there be a time? Would he vanish before she could confront him?

“Olivia?”

She looked at the suspect, then, really seeing his face for the first time, and she stopped. She stared at him—it took her a few moments to place him, it had been so long, and then, as recognition dawned, she felt a cold shock of disbelief.

“ _Dickie_?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

Barba cast a look between them, his forehead dipped into a frown. “You two know each other?”

“Richard… _Stabler_?” she asked, her brain refusing to process the knowledge. She couldn’t stop staring at him, as she tried desperately to reconcile conflicting realities—this was little Dickie, Elliot Stabler’s son, sitting before her. Accused of rape.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Barba lean back in his seat, and she knew that he’d put the pieces together. He knew her former partner’s name; he knew everything about their relationship, even the things she’d never said aloud. The suspect’s last name could’ve been a coincidence but, coupled with her reaction to seeing him, it now gave Barba all the information he needed.

“You didn’t know,” the lawyer said. It wasn’t a question.

“What are you—Aren’t you in Manhattan anymore?” Dickie asked.

“I’m just filling in,” she said through numb lips. “What…Dickie, does your father know you’re here?”

“God, no,” he answered, with a grimace. “He’s gonna kill me.”

She took a deep breath, trying to regroup. She had to remember that he was a suspect; she had to think of Marcy, hurt and frightened, traumatized, and remind herself that the young man sitting before her was not just the son of her former partner. She could feel Barba’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look at him.

She sat down across from Dickie, and said, “What about your mother? Do you want someone to call her?” Even though she knew that he was an adult—closer to thirty, now, than twenty—she was still nonplussed by his presence; she had to remind herself, also, that he was no longer a child.

“She’s on her honeymoon,” Dickie answered.

“I didn’t know—About your parents, I mean,” she said, hating the acid churning in her stomach.

“They got divorced two years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dickie shrugged. He looked ill, with dark smudges beneath his eyes, his hair a mess, his young face carved in stress. “We all knew it was a long-time coming, right? They get along better this way, I wish they’d done it when I was Eli’s age. Where’s Marcy, is she okay? Freddy said the cops took her to the hospital.”

“Well, she’s traumatized, Dickie. Sorry—you go by Rich, now, is that right?”

“Richard, mostly,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t—I need to see her, talk to her.”

“Let’s just go over this,” Benson said. “Tell me what happened last night.”

“Hold on,” Barba said, holding up a hand in Dickie’s direction. Benson met the lawyer’s eyes. “Is he being charged?”

“Not at the moment,” Benson answered. “We’re just trying to understand your side of things,” she added, returning her gaze to Dickie. “Start at the beginning. You called her—”

“You don’t have to answer her questions,” Barba told Dickie.

“No, it’s okay. Yeah, I called her, and I—” He stopped when there was a knock on the door. Benson looked over her shoulder, annoyed, but as soon as the door opened, her annoyance shifted into something else. She could hear the raised voices—one voice, another ghost from the past—and she rose from her chair as Johnson entered.

“We have a situation,” Johnson said.

“I want to see my son, _now_.”

“Sir, stop. Sir, you can’t—” Martinez was saying.

“I want your badge number. All of your badge numbers. And I want to see my son, right now.”

“Oh my god,” Dickie muttered behind her as Benson started for the door.

Benson stepped past Johnson and saw Martinez, hands held up to keep the other man from passing. “Elliot,” Benson said, unaware the name was leaving her tongue until it was hanging in the air. Martinez looked over his shoulder at her, and she said, “It’s alright.” He reluctantly lowered his hands and took a step back, but Stabler didn’t immediately move. He was staring at Benson, as surprised to see her as Barba had been. This time, she had a slight advantage—since recognizing Dickie, she’d known she would run into his father at some point, with the accusations leveled against the younger Stabler.

“Liv?” Stabler finally said, starting toward her. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled. “The question of the day,” she muttered.

“Is Dickie here? Is he alright?” he asked, as he approached her, and she could see his concern.

“He’s fine. I’ve just started questioning him.”

“Questioning—” He stopped, took a breath to calm himself. “Did he ask for a lawyer?”

“No, but he has one,” she said. “Someone from the college sent him. How did you know he was here?”

“You don’t want to know,” he answered, starting past her. She put a hand on his chest to stop him. He looked down at her hand, then up at her face, his jaw clenching. “If he’s not being charged, I’m taking him out of here,” he said.

“It’s not your decision,” she returned.

“The hell it isn’t.”

She dropped her hand. “He’s an adult,” she said. He strode into the interrogation room without another word to her, and she stood there, hating the tremble in her hands and the churning in her stomach. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Lieutenant?” Johnson asked, quietly. She and Martinez were watching her.

“It’s fine,” Benson said.

“You know the lawyer _and_ the father?” Martinez asked. “Are you sure…you don’t want me…”

“It’s fine,” she repeated, firmer. She squared her shoulders. “Any word on the warrant?”

“Haven’t heard back yet,” he answered.

Benson nodded. “Keep me posted.”

She turned and walked into the interrogation room.

She thought she was prepared. She was wrong.

Barba and Stabler were sitting on either side of Dickie. They were both watching her, reading her, and she felt the room beginning to spin around her. She felt disoriented, disconnected from reality. It wasn’t a feeling to which she was accustomed, and she despised it.

Green eyes. Blue eyes. Each pair was so familiar, so readable, so watchful.

Their faces were more recognizable to her than her own, even after years of not seeing them.

Barba was a little grayer; Stabler was a lot grayer.

Each of them had, at one time, been her biggest ally. Her most trusted friend. Each of them had walked away from her, from her friendship. And now, they were both sitting on the opposite side of the table from her. Watching her as she struggled to get control of herself.

As she struggled in vain, because she was losing the battle. She could feel herself reeling. Stabler pushed to his feet, and she held up a hand, shaking her head. He stepped around the table and she took a shaky step backward. He was coming toward her in spite of her extended hand, and she wanted to shout at him to stay away but she couldn’t form the words. His expression was one of concern, but she didn’t want or need his concern—she needed space to gather her self-control.

“Liv.” Barba’s voice cut through her dizziness, and she brought his face into focus. He was seated, but his palms were on the table, his muscles tensed to push himself to his feet, and she could see the concern in his face, too. She looked at him and shook her head. Stabler wasn’t a physical threat to her, and that was Barba’s primary concern. She saw his body relax a bit, although his expression was still worried.

“Stop,” she told Stabler, lifting her hand higher, and he did, frowning at her. “I’m fine, go sit down. Thank you.” She looked over her shoulder at Martinez. “We’ll be fine, just check in with Franklin, see where we are on the warrant.”

“Warrant?” Stabler asked. “For what?”

“To search your son’s dorm,” she said. “Please, have a seat,” she added, gesturing toward his vacant chair. He smiled a little at her politeness, but there wasn’t much humor in the expression.

“You’re joking, right?” he asked. “You know this girl is lying, whatever she said. This is Dickie, you know him.”

“I haven’t seen him in almost a decade,” she answered.

“Liv,” Stabler said. “Come on.”

“It’s fine, you don’t need a warrant. You can search—”

“Stop,” Barba said, putting a hand on Dickie’s arm. “You don’t need to consent, you don’t know what they—”

“Do not give them permission to search _anything_ , do you hear me?” Stabler interrupted, turning on his son.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Dickie looked at Benson. “You can—”

“Richard, I _urge_ you to listen to me,” Barba said, and the younger man turned a hesitant gaze toward the lawyer. Barba raised his eyebrows, and said, “She was in your bed, you’ve freely admitted that. Her DNA _will_ be found.”

“All the more reason to cooperate,” Dickie said, but he sounded unsure. “Right?” he asked after a moment. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeated.

Benson saw the compassion in Barba’s expression, and she looked away from it. She focused instead on Stabler, and said, quietly, “If you want to stay, you need to sit.”

Her former partner searched her face, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Finally, with a humorless twist of his lips, he nodded once and returned to the chair beside his son. She lowered herself into her own seat, straightening her blazer. Stabler leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest. She knew him too well—or had, once, at least—to believe all of his bluster. He was worried about his son, and Elliot Stabler would always do anything humanly possible to protect his children. He wasn’t as hard as he pretended to be, though.

“He’s right, we don’t need your consent, although it would speed things up,” Benson said. “But let’s forget about that for a minute, and get back to last night. You said you called her—Seriously?” she asked, unable to check her irritation when there was another knock on the door. She rubbed her temple, getting to her feet as Martinez entered, again. Benson wanted desperately to be in her own squad room, where her detectives knew better than to be so annoying.

“Sorry to interrupt—” he started, and she waved a hand to hurry him up. He cleared his throat. “We’re having trouble getting the ADA, do you want me—”

“I need the warrant,” Benson interrupted, frustrated that she had to say it aloud. Did the detective have no problem-solving skills? She looked at Barba—it wasn’t intentional, but instinctive, borne of years of familiarity and routine. He offered the tiniest of smiles—an acknowledgment that he understood, and she felt a burst of irritation. She wanted to be angry with him, but her annoyance was mostly directed at herself. She slid her gaze to Martinez, scowling. “Why the _hell_ isn’t Franklin answering our calls?”

“I don’t know, I’ll try again if you want,” Martinez said. “But his assistant said—”

“What good is an ADA if they’re not available when you need a warrant?” Benson cut in. From the corner of her eye, she saw Barba pull out his cell phone. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Of the five people in the room, Martinez was the only one who deserved none of her anger. He was just following the chain of command, like she’d wanted him to do earlier. Calmer, she said, “Thank you, try again, remind his assistant that it’s urgent and time-sensitive. As soon as—” She broke off when her phone buzzed. She looked at the screen and her frown returned; the number was unfamiliar.

“That’ll be Franklin,” Barba said, and she looked at him as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. He met her eyes; his gaze was steady but wary. “I texted your number to his private phone.”

“That was fast,” Martinez said.

Barba was still looking at Benson. “I said it was urgent.”

Benson really wasn’t sure if she wanted to thank him or curse at him. She was leaning toward the latter, even though she knew it wasn’t fair. She answered the phone as Stabler was turning on Barba.

“Whose side are you on, exactly?”

“Lieutenant Benson. Yes, Counsellor, thank you for getting back to me—”

“Dad, it’s fine. I didn’t—”

“Shut up, Dickie,” Stabler said.

Benson covered her phone with her hand and said, “All of you shut up, or _you_ will be escorted out.” She nodded at Stabler. Back into the phone, she told the ADA that she needed a warrant to search Richard Stabler’s dorm.

Stabler was still glaring at her when she hung up, and she met his eyes. “We’re getting a new lawyer, and you’re not questioning him any more until they get here,” he said. She didn’t answer as she lowered herself into her chair.

“Dad, stop,” Dickie said.

“Mr. Stabler, I understand your concern,” Barba started. “But the longer it takes to get the warrant, the longer your son sits—”

“Don’t lecture me on police procedure, I was doing this while you were still in law school.”

“Yeah, well he _did_ go to law school,” Dickie told his father. “Seriously, you’re not helping. Olivia says we can trust him.”

Stabler leaned close to his son, and said, “Dickie. Olivia thinks you raped that girl. Do you understand, she’s not your friend right now.”

“I didn’t do it and she’ll figure that out. Let them do their jobs.”

Benson was impressed by Dickie’s calmness while facing down his father. Of course, he’d had a lifetime to acclimate to Stabler’s moods, but she knew firsthand what it was like trying to change the former cop’s mind about something. She looked up at Martinez, and said, “The warrant’s on the way, get CSU there, you and Johnson make sure everything is smooth and by-the-book, understand?”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant.”

As Martinez left, Benson saw Stabler peering at Barba, and she knew by his expression what was coming. She felt her stomach drop.

“I know where I know you from,” Stabler said.

Barba met his gaze, waiting, but she could see the tenseness in his shoulders. In spite of everything, her heart went out to him. He knew what was coming as well as she did, and he didn’t deserve it. No matter how upset she might be with him, no matter how angry she’d been when he shut her out, no matter how badly he’d hurt her, he didn’t deserve what was coming.

“You’re the lawyer that killed that baby. McCoy put you on—”

“Elliot, stop,” Benson said.

“And you were there behind him, on the news, supporting him,” Stabler said, turning his blue gaze to her.

“That’s what friends do,” she said through numb lips. She felt shaky.

“Support baby killers?” he asked, his eyes flashing at her. “Things have changed a lot since I—”

Benson slapped her palms onto the table, surprising him, and leaned forward. “Oh, they have. But you haven’t, have you? So sure you always know best.” She saw the little wince that he tried to hide, and she pushed onward. “All three of us went to catholic schools. All three of us devoted our lives to law and order, a pursuit of justice. I used to watch you with your kids, I watched you go to the edges of Hell to protect them, just how you want to protect Dickie, now. Sometimes I envied it, sometimes I resented it, but I thought I understood it. I was wrong. Now? Now I’m a parent. Now I have a son, and I would do anything to protect him. Anything. You can’t tell me that you would watch one of your children suffer like that baby was suffering, you can’t give me your line about only God being allowed to choose who lives or dies, because we all grew up believing that same line. It’s different when you’re—”

“It wasn’t his kid,” Stabler said, sounding uncharacteristically subdued. “He took that choice away—”

“You weren’t there,” she interrupted. “You said yourself, I was on the news, by his side, in the courtroom, supporting him the whole time. That’s because I believed in him. I did the same for you, once upon a time. Maybe I’ve finally learned something.” She straightened, clinging desperately to her anger and bitterness to keep from crying. “Today’s the first time I’ve seen him in over a year, but I know as far as lawyers go, he’s the best, even if he has switched sides. So if you want to protect your son, you’ll sit back, shut up, and take his advice. But if you want _me_ to protect your son, you’re out of luck, because I’ll be fighting to get justice for Marcy—like we all used to do,” she added, finally chancing a quick glance at Barba. He wasn’t looking at her; he was staring at the table, turning his pen over in his hand.

“Or you’re going to throw the book at my son because you’re pissed at me,” Stabler said.

“Hey, now,” Barba said, lifting his head.

“Wow,” Benson said, holding Stabler’s stare. She nodded, pursing her lips. “Okay, then,” she said.

“How many times did you put your life in her—” Barba started.

Benson held a hand up in his direction. “It’s alright, Rafa,” she said, the nickname slipping out unbidden. She didn’t notice. She was too focused on Stabler. “Get it out, El. You’ll feel so much better. Tell me how unfairly I’ve treated you. I’m listening.”

Stabler leaned forward. “We both know you’ve always had a blind spot when it comes to women claiming to be raped at Hudson University.”

Benson drew back, feeling as though she’d been slapped. She saw regret in Stabler’s eyes, saw it as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late. The damage was done. Barba pushed to his feet, his chair scraping the floor, and turned toward Stabler. For a moment, Benson was too stunned to say or do anything. Everything seemed to have slowed to a crawl.

Stabler also rose and stood, facing Barba, and that broke her paralysis. Barba looked like he was two seconds away from punching Stabler in the face—and although she couldn’t deny that a part of her wanted that to happen, she knew that she couldn’t allow it. Barba wasn’t prone to physical violence. Despite frequent bursts of irritation and crankiness, he wasn’t prone to losing his temper, either.

“Sit down, both of you,” she said, managing to keep the tremor from her voice. The two men continued to glare at each other. “Barba,” she said, because she knew that he would be more reasonable, more likely to back down at her request. He cast her a sideways look, and she saw his jaw clench. He was reasonable, and he wasn’t a fighter, but he had pride. “Be the bigger man,” she told him.

Barba pulled in a breath through his nose. He was still glaring at Stabler, but he took a step back and lowered himself into his chair. Stabler clenched his fists by his sides. He knew he’d gone too far, and he knew that he should apologize. He’d bristled at her choice of words, though, just as she’d known he would; she’d chosen the expression— _be the bigger man_ —to irritate him, and to placate Barba.

Looking up at Stabler, all of her anger suddenly evaporated. It didn’t fade away, it simply vanished without warning, leaving her feeling hurt and exhausted. She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck as she shifted in her seat. They were just intentionally making each other miserable, and it was pointless. It wasn’t helping anything or anyone. It wasn’t helping Dickie, and it sure as hell wasn’t helping Marcy.

“Dad,” Dickie said, looking up at his father. “I want you by my side, Dad. I need you to believe me. I’m scared, but...I’ll do this alone if I have to. He’s right, she saved your life—I wouldn’t have a brother if she hadn’t had your back all those years. You don’t have to be friends anymore but you can’t tell me not to trust her after all the stories I’ve heard.”

Benson saw Stabler deflate, and he sank into his chair. “Of course I believe you, son,” he said. He put a hand on Dickie’s shoulder. “Of course I do. I’m sorry.” He looked at Benson, swallowed, and said, “I’m sorry, I was out of line.”

“Elliot Stabler, apologizing.” She said it quietly, and with a small smile. After a moment, he smiled in return, and she let out a breath. The whole interrogation had gone so far off the rails, she had to figure out how to get back on track. She shifted in her seat and looked at Barba.

He cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, he’s already acknowledged that he had sex with Marcy, on two separate occasions, in his room,” he said. “She waited seven hours and then disclosed to the RA of the boys’ dormitory in a college she doesn’t attend instead of calling the police or going to—”

“There were signs of trauma,” she interrupted, and Barba stopped. “Consistent with her story. And you know damn well that when and how victims disclose—” She stopped herself, though, tearing her gaze away from Barba’s to focus on the younger Stabler.

“Trauma?” Dickie asked, swallowing. He looked ill. “I…”

“So maybe things got a little rough,” Stabler said, but Benson could see that the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

“No,” Dickie said, shaking his head. “No, we didn’t—It wasn’t. Jesus. I don’t understand…I never would’ve hurt her.”

Benson tried not to see the little boy she’d once known in the man sitting across from her. His sincerity was convincing, though. She put her elbows on the table. “Marcy said you’d been drinking.”

“I—Yeah, I’d had some to drink, I was stressed out about exams, but I wasn’t…Jesus, I wasn’t that drunk. I couldn’t ever be _that_ drunk, I would never hurt—Please, just let me talk to her to find out what happened.”

“She said you’d tried to call her a few times during the week and she didn’t respond. Why’d you keep calling?”

Dickie stared at her for a moment, his face drawn. Finally, he sat back in his chair, his shoulders slumping. “I thought we’d had a nice time, thought she might want to go out. I only called twice, left her a message, but she didn’t call back so I figured…I mean, I didn’t even know if she’d given me her real number, it was an automated voicemail, so I figured I should take a hint if she didn’t call back, right?”

“But you called her again last night.”

His throat worked for a moment. “Yes.”

“Because you’d been drinking.”

“Because I was feeling…” He stopped, pulled in a shaky breath, and said, “Yes.”

“You invited her to your dorm.”

“Yes.”

“He’s already admitted to—”

“It’s okay,” Dickie told Barba. “Yes, and I wanted to have sex with her. And I was probably drunk, and I was stressed out about school and most of the girls on campus are teenagers, I’m older than my RA, and I was feeling sorry for myself. But wanting sex and expecting it aren’t the same thing. If she’d said no, I would—”

“She says she did say no, repeatedly.”

“She didn’t.”

“That you held her down.”

“I didn’t.”

“She has vaginal bruising and tearing.”

Dickie winced, and for a moment, she thought he might be sick. He rubbed a hand over his face.

“Liv,” Stabler said, his voice quiet.

“I swear to God, I didn’t hurt her. It was nice. It was…” Dickie floundered for the right word. “Sweet,” he finally said, barely above a whisper, and Benson felt actual pain in her gut. No matter what had happened, Dickie’s anguish and confusion seemed real.

His emotions didn’t mean that Marcy was lying, though.

“She said you apologized in the morning.”

Dickie blinked at her. “I said I was sorry I was drunk and…emotional,” he said, glancing sideways at his father. Shifting in his seat, clearly uncomfortable, he added, “I told her I had to go to class and she could stay as long as she wanted, that my roommate wouldn’t be back until late—”

“Is it common for him to be gone?” she asked.

“He went to visit his grandpa, they said he’s really sick.”

“Did you tell Marcy that he was out of town?”

“I…think so…? I definitely said he wouldn’t be back, she asked, was worried about someone coming in.”

“Was he visiting his grandpa last weekend, too?” she asked.

“Yes,” Dickie answered with a small frown.

“How did she seem this morning?”

“He’s not a psychologist,” Barba said.

“You’re not in court,” Benson countered, glancing at him.

“She seemed fine. I kissed her goodbye, asked if I could call her later if she wasn’t there when I got back, she said yes.”

“She said yes?” Benson asked, raising her eyebrows. “Are you sure about that? She didn’t say… _sure_ or _fine_ or _whatever_?”

“I…”

“What’s the difference?” Stabler asked, his movements agitated as he shifted.

Benson ignored him. “Is it possible you interpreted things the way you wanted to? This morning, and last night?”

“Don’t answer that,” Barba said.

“If I hurt her…” Dickie started, his voice trailing off.

“That’s enough,” Barba told him.

“Don’t let her convince you,” Stabler said.

Dickie swallowed and looked at Benson, his eyes shimmering. “If I hurt her, I’m sorry. If that’s what she says…”

“She’s lying, Dickie,” Stabler said. “Just because she says it doesn’t make it true.”

“But why would she?” Dickie asked, turning his look of confusion to his father. Benson saw Stabler’s expression tighten in response to his son’s emotion. “Maybe it is true. Maybe I—”

“We’re done for now,” Barba interrupted, putting a hand on Dickie’s arm and looking at Benson.

She looked at Dickie, and she felt ill. She knew she should push. She knew that she was letting her emotions cloud her objectivity. She knew that if he were any other suspect, she would hammer him for a confession; it was what she’d intended before she knew who he was—and before she’d found herself sitting across from Barba and Stabler.

Dickie would, against the advice from both his father and his lawyer, admit to guilt. He was almost there. In the span of a few minutes, he’d gone from repeatedly saying _I didn’t do anything wrong_ to _if I hurt her_ , and if Benson pushed, he would admit to at least the possibility of culpability.

Her head was pounding, her stomach was churning, and she needed to regain her perspective. She pushed to her feet, and all three men looked up at her. She put her hands on the table, trying to ignore the reeling of the room, and looked at Dickie.

“We’re going to get to the bottom of this,” she said. She meant it as a threat, she thought, but it came out far gentler than she’d intended. “Sit tight, we’re going to bring Marcy in to identify you.” She turned and strode toward the door.

“I want to talk to her.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Benson said, without looking back.

 

*       *       *

 

Stabler dropped into the passenger seat and slammed the door. “Isn’t the point of becoming a lieutenant so you don’t have to do the legwork?”

“I wouldn’t even be here if they weren’t so short-staffed they can’t—”

“Or maybe this is personal,” he suggested, straightening his jacket as he turned partway toward her.

Benson looked at him, her heart pounding in time with her temples. “Get out,” she said, although there wasn’t much force behind the words.

“I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re not a cop anymore, remember?”

“No, as a PI, I don’t have to follow the same rules as you. I can help.”

“You used to hate PIs.”

“Liv, I won’t get in your way, I promise.”

“Oh, you promise?” she asked, and his jaw clenched as he regarded her. “If I let you anywhere near the witnesses, the whole case—”

“You know I’ll just question them on my own, anyway,” he cut in. “This way it’ll be on your terms.”

“Right,” she said, with a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “My terms.” She looked out the windshield as Barba was coming out of the building. He paused, his gaze scanning the lot, and his eyes quickly found hers. Her heart skipped a beat. He might’ve come over, if Stabler weren’t in the car. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or disappointed when he turned on his heel and walked the other way.

“He’s supposed to stay with Dickie,” Stabler said, also noting the lawyer’s departure.

“He’ll be back. You can trust him to look out for your son.”

“What’s the deal with you two, anyway?” Stabler asked, looking at her. “Have you really not seen him in a year?”

“Why would I lie about it?” she asked, rubbing her temple.

“Were you sleeping with him?”

She knew the question should make her angry but she couldn’t summon the energy. She felt like crying, not shouting. “That’s none of your business,” she said, forcing herself to look at him.

“You want me to trust him with my son’s life,” Stabler answered, but his expression had gentled at whatever he saw in her face. “You keep defending him but you can’t seem to stand the guy.”

“You can do whatever you want, Elliot,” she said. “You always do, anyway. What’s my advice worth? You apparently think I want to railroad your son—”

“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” he said. “I didn’t mean…It’s not that I don’t trust you, Liv—”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“—it’s just that this is Dickie we’re talking about. We’ve seen vics lie. If she was raped—”

“She was.”

“—then she could be blaming Dickie because she’s scared of someone. Or because, I don’t know, she wants something from my son. Or who knows. I’m just saying that I know him, and so do you, or at least you used to, and he wouldn’t do this.”

“I’ve been doing this job a long time,” she said. “We have this thing called an investigation.”

He sighed and scrubbed both hands over his face. “Liv, I’m…Look, you said you’re a mother, now.”

“Yes,” she said, finally feeling a small flare of anger. “I have a son, Noah. Thanks for asking.”

He looked at her for a few moments, taking in her expression. “I know,” he said. “I mean, I’ve heard a lot, from Fin and Munch, Cragen, everyone says you’re…I’m happy for you, Liv, I really am. But you understand, now, what it’s like to need to do anything for your kids. You said as much in there, about Barba and that baby.”

Her scalp was prickling. She could feel the anger simmering, now. She said, “I’m glad you’ve kept in touch with everyone.”

“I’m throwing myself at your mercy, Liv,” he said, spreading his hands.

They sat in silence for what felt like a long time. Finally, without looking at him, she turned the key in the ignition. Beside her, Stabler put on his seatbelt.

 

*       *       *

 

As they were walking into the dormitory, Benson stopped, turning toward Stabler with a hand held up. “El, listen to me,” she said. “Look at me. You understand that I’m…putting myself in—”

“I won’t screw it up, you have my word.” After a moment, he grinned. “Come on, it’s like old times, huh?” He punched her lightly, playfully, on the shoulder. She smiled in return, but they both knew it would never really be like _old times_ again. They weren’t the same people, anymore. “I’ll follow your lead,” he promised.

“Are you armed?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows and pointed at one bicep. “These?” She held his gaze, and after a moment, he dropped his hand. “No. I would’ve told you if I had a gun on me, Liv.”

Nodding, she turned and led the way into the building. He trailed behind her. She hadn’t seen him in the better part of a decade, and while she once would’ve put her life in his hands without question, she could no longer afford to take anything for granted.

“You can search me, if you want,” he said, behind her.

“Don’t be an ass,” she answered, without looking back.

“I’m serious. I don’t want you to worry about me. I want to prove my son’s innocence, not fuck up Marcy’s rape investigation.”

_What will you do if we prove him guilty?_ she thought, but she didn’t voice the question. Instead, she said, “You know me, El, I’ve always had trust issues.”

He didn’t answer, which was for the best. He stepped up beside her as they approached the RA’s room.

“Freddy Thomas?” Benson asked the man tacking a flyer to the corkboard beside the door.

The RA looked over his shoulder, immediately recognized her as a cop, and turned toward them. “Yes. Is Marcy okay?” he asked.

“I’m Lieutenant Benson. Do you know Ms. Phillips?”

“Is that her—Marcy? No, I never met her before but I feel awful, I should’ve…done something, known what was—They’re not supposed to have girls in their rooms overnight of course but to be honest, I’ve never had to worry about Richard—about anything. He’s older than most of us but he’s not _old_ , not even thirty, but he’s just a million miles more mature than anyone else in this Hellhole. I just can’t believe…I mean I know it’s what she said, and I believe her because she definitely wasn’t lying, but it’s so hard to believe it was _Richard_. If anything goes wrong around here, I usually go to him for help—or usually he shows up when you need help, I guess.”

“Can we go into your room to talk?” Benson asked, gesturing toward the door.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah,” Freddy said, pushing it open. “Look, Ms. Griggs asked me to text her when you got here. Is that okay? She’s got a list.”

“A list?” Stabler asked.

Freddy led the way into his room. “Yeah, of witnesses or whatever.”

Benson looked at Stabler, and he offered her the hint of a shrug. “What does Ms. Griggs do here, exactly?” she asked, glancing around the room.

“She’s the guidance counselor but she does pretty much everything,” Freddy said, with a little laugh. “She volunteers with the drama club a lot, organizing stuff is kinda her specialty, so if it’s not like a political rally or a food drive or something, then she organizes musicals and stuff. I don’t even know if she sleeps, to be honest.” After only a few seconds, he received an answer to his text, and told Benson, “She’ll be here in a couple minutes.”

“Okay, so let’s go over what happened,” Benson said. “Marcy came to your door around ten?”

“I think it was a little after nine-thirty, maybe?” Freddy answered. “By the time the cops got here, it was just after ten. I asked if she wanted me to drive her to the hospital instead of waiting but she said no. Ms. Griggs was here—”

“Here, in your room? Did you call her?” Benson asked.

“Uh, no,” Freddy said, shifting his feet and glancing around.

“She was here before Marcy showed up,” Benson said.

“Yeah, look, she wasn’t here all night or anything, she just stopped by this morning.”

Benson held up a hand. “I’m not interested in that, just what you know about Marcy. Did you see her and Richard get in last night? Or hear anything?”

“No, but there was a big frat party and most of the guys were stumbling in around three this morning. I had to come out here and quiet a couple of them down. I don’t know if Rich was in his room before that. Usually he’d come out if he heard yelling but I guess if he had a girl…” He trailed off, frowning. “If they were already in there, then…” He shook his head, swallowing, and Benson could see the apology in his eyes when he looked at her. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Okay,” Benson said. “What about this morning, did you see or hear Richard leave for class?”

“Yeah, I did, actually. He seemed fine, normal. Smiled and said good morning when I passed him.”

“Does he have any problems with any of the other guys?” Stabler asked. “You said he would’ve come out if he’d heard yelling?”

“He’s had to break up some fights, he looks sorta small but he’s got some serious strength, I guess maybe that’s from the army though I don’t think he was in long.”

“Marines,” Stabler said.

“Anyone hold any grudges about his interference?” Benson asked.

Freddy frowned, shaking his head. “No, seriously, everyone seems to like him. He just doesn’t cause any trouble, ever.”

“He’s never been in any fights, himself?” Stabler asked.

“Not that I know of. One time we thought he was gonna hit this guy for talking shit about a girl but Rich just ended up twisting his arm behind his back when the guy tried to hit _him_ , told him to go to his room and sober up.”

“What about women?” Benson asked. “Have there been any incidences?”

“No. I haven’t seen him with many.”

“No girlfriends?” Stabler asked.

Freddy shook his head. “To be honest, I thought he might be gay when he first got here. Who knows, maybe he plays both sides, because I saw him help this guy to a cab one morning and that guy was all over him, I think he was like kissing Richard’s neck while they walked.”

Benson looked at Stabler, to judge his reaction.

“Do you know who the guy was?” he asked, after a few beats of silence.

“I don’t know, I’d guess he’s not a student since he was getting in a cab, but you’d have to ask Rich.”

“You and Ms. Griggs were the only two here when Marcy knocked?” Benson asked.

“That’s right.”

“Did you see anyone else in the hallway?” Stabler asked. “Did you see her talking to anyone else?”

“I didn’t but Gloria—Ms. Griggs talked to a couple of guys who saw her, she can tell you more when she gets here. All I know is, she said her name was Marcy, she was crying and, like, hugging herself, and she seemed really upset and scared and she told us that Richard Stabler raped her.”

“She used his last name?” Benson asked, glancing at Stabler.

“Yeah.”

“Was Ms. Griggs here, then, when Marcy told you what happened?” Stabler asked.

“She was but she had to leave before the cops got here. She had a class at ten.”

“A class?” Benson asked, frowning.

“Oh, she’s filling in for the Lit professor for two days.”

“Guess you weren’t kidding about her doing everything,” Stabler said, showing his teeth in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So you and Marcy were alone here for how long?” Benson asked.

“Alone? Maybe…fifteen minutes? I’m not sure. She didn’t want to talk much. I…gave her some Schnapps, I don’t know if that’s okay, but I just thought it might help calm her. She didn’t drink much, just a few sips. She just sorta sat here, staring into space. I didn’t want to push her. She said Rich went to class, I asked Ms. Griggs if we should go get him, but she said no. Anyway, he came back after the cops took Marcy to the hospital, and I…guess Marcy hadn’t told the cops his name? I don’t know why she’d tell me and not them? But they didn’t send anyone to get him so I figured they didn’t know.”

“You told him that he’d been accused,” Stabler said.

“I guess I didn’t really mean to,” Freddy said, frowning. “I was surprised to see him, and he seemed normal, and I think I was a little freaked out. I told him that the police took Marcy to the hospital, and…he asked what happened and what police unit it was, and I told him I was going to call and tell them his name if she hadn’t and he said… _call them_. He told me to call the police, he seemed upset but not like _angry_ upset, and he just stood out in the hallway waiting for the police. He didn’t even go in his room or anything. He had his books, look, they’re over there, I took ‘em from him when the cops came for him. I guess I’ll just keep them until he comes back…” He trailed off, clearly thinking _if he comes back_.

“You’re sure you’ve never seen Ms. Phillips—Marcy—before today?” Stabler asked.

“I don’t think so,” Freddy said.

“Do you know anything about Richard’s roommate?” Benson asked.

“He’s visiting his grandma. Or grandpa? I’m not sure. He’s been gone a lot, lately. He’s eighteen but he’s pretty quiet, too, I think he and Rich get along pretty well ‘cause even though he’s younger, he’s not a real partier or anything.”

“Did you see Richard last Saturday night when he got in?” Stabler asked.

Freddy frowned, thinking. “I don’t remember for sure…”

“But you definitely don’t remember seeing Ms. Phillips—Marcy—last weekend?” Benson asked.

Freddy shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before, for sure not here in the dorm. Was she here last weekend, too?”

“We’re just trying to piece things together,” Benson said. She looked back at the sound of a knock on the door.

“That’s Gloria,” Freddy said, hurrying over to let her in.

Benson met Stabler’s eyes. He raised his brows and mouthed _Gloria_. She nodded. So long as it didn’t relate to the case, she didn’t care if Gloria Griggs was sleeping with Freddy, or anyone else.

She shoved the thought away before it could consume her.

“Ms. Griggs, I’m Lieutenant Benson,” she said, stepping forward to shake hands. “Mr. Thomas says you were here when Ms. Phillips disclosed this morning, and that you might have information for us?”

“That’s correct,” Gloria answered, shaking the offered hand.

Now that she was able to put a face to the name, Benson could remember having seen Gloria on the news. The woman had always seemed like a force with which to be reckoned, and carried herself with a confidence that few people could manage. Even so, Benson had always suspected that they might be friends if they ever met. Now, she shied from that idea—not only because of her disinterest in making new friends, but because of feelings that were far more unseemly.

Gloria Griggs was confident, intelligent, and likable. She was in her mid-thirties, dark-skinned, athletic. She wore no makeup. She was beautiful, and Benson didn’t like the acid burning in her stomach or the painful thoughts that her traitorous mind refused to quell, thoughts of Gloria Griggs and Rafael Barba.

Freddy looked at his phone. “Uh, do you mind if I run for a minute? Someone needs help with their lock. You can stay in here, if you want.”

“Sure,” Benson said.

As soon as he was gone, Gloria looked at Benson and said, “In the interest of full-disclosure, I should mention up front that I have been sleeping with him—Freddy. And I was sleeping with Richard until a couple of months ago.”

Benson blinked in surprise, even as her mind betrayed her with the thought: _And Barba?_ “Then in the interest of full-disclosure, this is Richard’s father, Elliot Stabler,” she managed after a few seconds.

Gloria showed a moment’s surprise, but no discomfort as she offered her hand to Stabler. She looked him up and down, and said, “I can sort of see it. You and your wife did a good job raising him, he’s a good guy. I was sorry to have to break it off with him.”

“You broke up with him?” Stabler asked. “Why?”

Gloria smiled. “He’s not really a no-strings-attached sort of guy,” she said. “I didn’t want him to get too emotionally invested. He’s also not a rapist,” she added, returning her attention to Benson. “Obviously, we can never really know about people, of course, but I’d stake my reputation on Rich. I’m sure you wouldn’t be here if there weren’t some evidence—”

“We investigate all rape allegations,” Benson interrupted.

“Right, I just mean if she was actually—”

“She _was_ assaulted,” Stabler said. Benson knew he’d picked up on some of her inner turmoil, and she cursed herself for being unable to control her emotions.

“Then I’ll do everything I can to help find the man responsible,” Gloria said. “Even if it is Rich,” she added. “Did Rafael Barba get to the precinct?”

“Yes,” Benson said.

“I asked him for a fresh perspective, impartial. Since I thought I might be biased. He can read people, believe me. I haven’t heard from him, yet, but—”

“He thinks Richard’s innocent,” Benson interrupted. She didn’t like hearing Gloria talk about Barba. She knew it was ridiculous, inappropriate, unprofessional, and yet she couldn’t help it.

“That’s good enough for me,” Gloria said.

“You have a lot of faith in a lawyer,” Stabler said, and Benson knew without a doubt what he was going to say next: _Are you sleeping with him, too?_ She felt a surge of panic, and she put a hand on Stabler’s arm, instinctively, desperate to keep his question unvoiced. He looked at her, but she could only meet his eyes for a second.

“No one understands the law better than Rafael,” Gloria said. “Or respects it more,” she added. She was an observant woman, and she didn’t miss the awkward and silent exchange between Benson and Stabler. She didn’t comment, though.

“He broke the law and killed a baby,” Stabler countered with a frown as Benson pulled her hand back.

“That was the hardest decision he’s ever made,” Gloria answered. “I asked him about it, once. He didn’t want to talk about it but it’s obvious that it still haunts him. He’s been doing penance ever since. That’s not the same as regretting it, though.”

“Isn’t it?” Stabler asked.

Gloria smiled. “Catholic, right?” she asked, with a knowing dip of her chin. “You can feel badly about something but still be unwilling to change it if you had the chance. It haunts him, it’s certainly affected his career, but he’d do it again. Why? Because he did what he thought was _right_ , and what else can we hope for? I might’ve done the same, in his position, I can’t really say.” She looked at Benson. “You were there, right?” she asked. “I thought you looked familiar, now I remember.”

Benson nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Stabler looked at her, saw that she was barely holding herself together. He turned his attention back to Gloria, and said, “I appreciate you sending him to look out for Dickie, anyway. Freddy said you have a list of witnesses? You’ve been talking to people on campus?”

Gloria shook her head, meeting his eyes. “Just the guys in this dorm, who would’ve been coming or going around then.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “Only three said they saw her. One said she was walking out but looked at her phone and then went back inside. One said she was walking down the hall when he came out of his room but he was hurrying to class. One said he saw her come out of the bathroom and he knew something was wrong with her but she came here to Freddy’s room so he didn’t say anything. That’s it, those three are all I found,” she said, holding the note toward Stabler.

He took it, glanced at the names, and handed the paper to Benson. She blinked at the neat writing but had to struggle to bring the letters into focus. She silently cursed herself, knowing she had to get a handle on herself. Her head was thudding, her stomach was burning, and her mind was racing, but she had to be able to do her job.

“Thanks,” she said. She handed Gloria a card. “If you think of anything else, give me a call. Do you know where we can find these three men?”

“Their room numbers are next to their names but two of them have classes. I can have them pulled out?”

Benson nodded. “CSU is going to be searching Richard’s room. Are they going to find anything of yours?”

Gloria smiled. “After a couple of months?” she asked. “Rich was a marine. He’s got better laundry habits than that, Lieutenant.”

Stabler laughed, sounding equal parts amused and uncomfortable.

Benson felt only uncomfortable.

 

*       *       *

 

“We always did make a good team.”

“Did we?” she asked, staring through the windshield.

“Interviewing witnesses, finishing each other’s thoughts, I told you, just like old times,” he said. He was trying to keep his tone light, but his concern was heavy in the air between them. Finally, after several beats of silence, he said quietly, “I’ve missed you, Liv.”

“You knew where to find me.”

“Yeah, well, you knew where to find me, too.”

She turned to him. “Really? You wanted me to come running after you? And what? Beg you not to throw away our friendship?”

He winced. “No,” he said. “I was just waiting for…you to…” He lifted a hand. “For it to be okay for us to talk—”

“You were waiting for me to forgive you and make the first move,” she said. Her scalp was prickling. “You left but you wanted me to tell you it was okay and then we could just pretend?”

“I knew you’d be angry. I didn’t want to force you to—”

“ _Force me_?” she cut in, her temples pounding harder than ever as she stared at him. “You didn’t give me a choice before you cut me off but I was supposed to know that it was my—” She stopped abruptly, blinking back her tears. She gave her head a shake and clenched her jaw. “You know what, it doesn’t matter,” she said, quieter. “This isn’t the time. You need to focus on your son right now, and I need to focus on the case.” She reached for the key, but before she could turn it, he put a light hand on her arm.

“Liv, wait,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

She looked at his hand, and he pulled it back. She looked at his face, and saw that his expression was tightened in contrition. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Her anger was once more sliding away, again leaving her defenseless with nothing but sadness and weariness. “I know you are,” she said, and it was true. “It’s been such a long time, Elliot.” She sighed and shook her head again. “I don’t want to talk about this now.”

“Fine, then let’s talk about Barba,” he said.

“No.”

“I’m guessing he left you, too,” he said.

She laughed without humor. “Yeah—that’s what happens when I care about people,” she answered.

“You do nothing but defend him. You can forgive _him_ , but not _me_?” he asked. “I know it’s only been a year—”

“If that’s what you want, Elliot, I forgive you,” she said, once more looking through the windshield. “I absolve you of your guilt.”

“He broke your heart,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

She felt a fresh burst of anger; it hit her unexpectedly, and she grabbed for it, desperate to cling to something, anything, that could keep her tears at bay. “So did you,” she said, turning on him. She could feel her face flushing. Her hands were trembling. She stared at him, letting the anger build.

“Me?” he asked, spreading his hands. “Break _your_ heart? Please. You never needed me, or anyone else,” he said. “You never let anyone inside your walls.”

Her breath caught. “You knew everything about me,” she said, barely above a whisper, her lips hardly moving. Her head thudded with her heart. “You were the only person who knew everything about me. I had your back _always_ ,” she said, louder. She swallowed. She realized, looking at him, that he’d done this on purpose. He’d prodded her backward into the anger, goaded her into this outburst. He was just sitting there, calmly waiting for whatever was coming, and that—that _calmness—_ only served to further infuriate her.

“I loved you more than my own life!” she said, tearing the words from herself. “And you, you just walked away from me, from us, like I was nothing to you. Like it meant nothing to you. And you made it feel like my fault! Like I hadn’t tried hard enough to…to hide my…my…” She floundered, and she hated the tears that were burning her eyes and nose. “Like I wasn’t willing to accept what we had,” she said, instead. “I never let anyone inside my walls? I didn’t need anyone? Bullshit. You knew, and you knew I would _never_ do anything about it. I sat across from Kathy at dinner. I watched your kids grow up. You _knew_ I would never do anything to jeopardize your family. I loved you too much for that. _But you felt it too_. That’s what scared you. Don’t you _dare lie to me now_.”

He sighed. His eyes were shining with unshed tears. “Yeah, I felt it, Liv,” he said. “But…I would’ve destroyed you.”

“You did,” she said, and she was crying; she couldn’t help it.

He shook his head. “No,” he answered. “You’re a lieutenant, Olivia. You’re a mother. You’re not the same person you were ten years ago, or twenty years ago. We changed each other, but we weren’t good for each other. You know that.”

She swallowed and nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks.

“I thought that…once you saw how much better off you were without me, then maybe we could be friends. But the more time that passed, the more time I had to think about what I’d done, and…Liv, I wish I could take it back. Change it.”

She shook her head and pulled in a shaky breath. “I don’t want you to take it back,” she said, and as the words left her lips, she felt…relief. “You’re right. We made a good team but we weren’t good for each other.” She could feel the weight lifting from her shoulders, a weight she’d scarcely realized was there. She looked at Stabler and suddenly felt…free. Free from the guilt. Free from the anger. Free from the pain. He was right.

Would she be a lieutenant if he hadn’t left? She couldn’t say, but they might have continued their partnership for years. Would she have Noah? Would she have had the confidence to adopt him? She couldn’t say that, either, not knowing Stabler’s opinions about biological children.

Would he and Kathy have divorced sooner? Maybe, but what did it matter? Benson knew now that a romantic relationship between them would have been the worst thing they could’ve done for each other. It would’ve been intense and passionate. It would’ve consumed them. It would’ve eventually destroyed them.

He was right; his departure hadn’t destroyed her. She’d felt damaged for a long time, but she’d picked herself up. She’d found a way to trust, again. She’d managed to open herself up, again. She’d managed to love, again.

She’d found a way to completely open her heart to Noah, and motherhood had changed her. It wasn’t just that, though. It wasn’t just her son who had helped her heal.

“I never wanted to be out of your life, Liv,” he said.

“I know,” she answered, and she did. “Maybe…after this case is over…”

“I can’t focus on anything but helping Dickie, now,” he said.

She nodded. “I know. And whatever happens, I want you to know that I—”

“You’ll do your job,” he cut in. “You look out for Marcy, and I’ll look out for my son, that’s the way it should be. And then, maybe…”

“We can be friends, again,” she said, and she found that the small smile curving her lips finally felt _natural_.

“Friends,” he agreed. “I’ve missed that.”

“Me, too,” she said. “You were one of the best friends I’ve ever had, in spite of everything.”

He hesitated. “And Barba?” he asked.

She sniffed and swiped the tears from her cheeks. She almost didn’t say it, but the words slipped out: “The best friend I ever had.”

“He broke your heart,” he repeated.

Benson turned the key in the ignition, bringing the engine to life. “He broke more than that,” she said, softly. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it, after the case. But in the meantime, don’t let that influence your feelings for him. I promise you, he’s a good man, and the best lawyer you could hope for.” She turned her head to look at him. “I would’ve once followed you literally into Hell. But I’ve never trusted anyone more than I trust him.”

“Trust?” he said, after a moment. “Still?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated again. “Maybe his leaving was for the best, too,” he suggested. “Maybe with a little more time, you’ll see that…you weren’t good for each other, either.”

She offered him a watery smile and tipped her head. “I don’t think so,” she murmured. She looked over her shoulder and pulled out of the parking space. They fell into a comfortable silence as she drove. There was nothing left for them to say, not yet.

 

*       *       *

 

“Looks like we’re late to the party,” Stabler said as they approached the three men—Barba, Martinez, and Franklin—outside the interrogation room.

“Al Franklin, Elliot Stabler, the suspect’s father,” Benson said. They didn’t shake hands, which was probably for the best.

“Mr. Stabler,” Franklin said, with a small nod, before looking at Benson. “I understood the victim would be here to make an ID?”

Benson pulled in a breath. “I only just got back,” she answered, looking at Martinez. Barba moved over to her side, but she didn’t look at him until he held out a small paper sack. She glanced down at it before shifting her gaze up to meet his. His smile was small, and she took the bag without comment. He could see that she’d been crying, and she could see the lines in his face deepen in response.

“Johnson’s bringing her in, should be just a few minutes,” Martinez said.

“How’d the search go?” Franklin asked.

“Nothing contradicting her story—or his, so far,” Benson said. “No signs of struggle. They’re still collecting samples, they didn’t get there until after we did. We spoke to the RA—”

“We?” Franklin asked, his eyes sliding from her to Stabler and back again. “Something I should know about?”

“He confirmed that he called the police as soon as Marcy came to him, but it seems like she may have left the dorms and then returned to the RA’s room. If that’s true, there could’ve been time—”

“I’m confused,” Franklin interrupted. “Was this little trip meant to corroborate the victim’s statement, or poke holes in it?”

Benson forced a smile. “We all know the truth is never black and white, Counsellor,” she said. “My job is to find—”

“Our jobs are to put rapists behind bars, yes?” Franklin asked.

“Your job is to make sure the guilty are convicted,” she said. “My job is to make sure they’re actually guilty before that happens. If you’d like to call—”

“Your objectivity isn’t above question.”

“You’re a dick,” Stabler said, and Barba snorted beside Benson.

“Pardon me?” Franklin asked, glaring at Stabler.

“Come on, Al, you haven’t let her finish a sentence since she got here,” Barba said.

“You know what,” Benson said, before Franklin could answer, “I need a break from the testosterone. Martinez, please show Mr. Stabler somewhere he can wait until after the ID and come tell me as soon as Marcy is here.”

Without waiting for acknowledgment, she turned and strode toward her office, closing the door behind herself without looking back. She walked over and set the paper bag on the desk—carefully, because she could tell that there was a cup, presumably of coffee, inside. She sighed, lowering her head to rub the nape of her neck. She rolled her shoulders, then her head, and stretched her back, before finally going around the desk to sink into the chair.

She pulled the bag closer and opened it, peering inside. A cup of coffee, and a muffin. Her stomach grumbled at the sight, and the smell of the cappuccino. More hours had passed and she still hadn’t eaten, she realized. No wonder she had a headache—and lower-than-usual tolerance for misogyny.

Although Stabler was right, Franklin _was_ a dick, and had probably been pulled away from the golf course, or his mistress, or who knew what, by Barba’s text, making him even more dickish than usual. Luckily, she didn’t have to deal with him much longer. While she and the ADA assigned to the Manhattan SVU were not friends, at least they had a mutually-respectful working relationship.

Benson was not interested in cultivating friendships, anymore. Especially not with lawyers. ADAs would come and go, and so would detectives. Some of her squad had already been grandfathered into her small circle of friends—her family, really—and into her heart. She wasn’t going to be inviting anyone new into that fold, however, and she couldn’t really care less what Franklin thought of her.

She pulled the cappuccino and muffin out of the bag and looked at them. She felt tears burning her eyes, and she hated them. She’d thought she was long-done with them. A part of her wanted to throw the muffin into the trash; or better yet, throw it back at Barba, a symbolic rejection of his thoughtful consideration _now_ , after she’d already duct-taped her heart back together with no help from him.

She peeled the paper from the muffin, one-handed, as she sipped the cappuccino. She tore a piece of muffin off and shoved it into her mouth, before she could give in to irrational and immature impulses.

There was a knock on the door, and she said, “Yeah.” She expected Martinez, but it was Stabler who put his head into the room.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

She waved a hand, and he stepped inside and closed the door. “Thought Martinez was babysitting you,” she said.

He grinned. “Busy babysitting your lawyer,” he answered.

“Which one?”

“The asshole.”

She raised her eyebrows, eating another piece of muffin.

His grin widened. “Franklin,” he said. “He wants a lineup, apparently.”

“What in the name of God for?” she asked. “She literally has to look through the window and say yes or no.”

Stabler sighed and ran a hand across the back of his head. “And we both know she’s going to say yes,” he said, quietly. “Then he’ll be booked and arraigned…” He trailed off, shaking his head, and she knew how hard it was for him to keep from yelling, or breaking something. “What am I supposed to do, Liv?”

“Just keep being his father, Elliot,” she answered.

“Barba said he’d stay on. I didn’t know that was in question, but I guess it means he thinks there’s a chance he’ll win, right?”

“It means he thinks Dickie’s innocent,” she said. “He came as a favor, but he wouldn’t defend him if he thought he was guilty.”

“Oh, please, lawyers defend guilty people all the time.”

“He’s not a defense attorney. Not really.” She ate the last of her muffin and washed it down with cappuccino. She glanced at her watch and frowned, pushing to her feet. “Why don’t you stay in here until we’re done.”

“Got any liquor in here?”

She smiled as she passed him. “It’s not my office, remember? Please, don’t touch anything.”

He raised his hands, palms forward, grinning. “Scout’s honor.”

She shook her head, leaving the office and closing him inside. She saw Johnson escorting Marcy through the door, and thought, _finally_. She knew it hadn’t been that long, but she wanted the day to be over. She walked toward Marcy and thanked Johnson.

“How are you feeling, Marcy?” Benson asked.

“I’m okay,” the younger woman said, fidgeting as she glanced around. “He’s here? Where is he?”

“He’s in an interrogation room, he can’t see you or hear you. You’ll be looking through a window to identify him, alright? Let’s sit down for a minute and go over a couple of things, if that’s alright.”

“Sure,” Marcy answered, sitting in the indicated chair. She had her phone in her hands, and started turning it slowly end over end.

“Okay, Marcy,” Benson said, pulling a seat up beside her. “I just want to go over the timeline with you, see if you remember anything else. You said you stayed in Rich’s room until after nine, is that right?”

“I…wasn’t sure what time it was…” Marcy answered, hesitantly. “Just that…he’d been gone awhile. I guess it was around ten when the cops got there, so…”

“Okay. But you said you were going to leave, and then you decided to go to the RA’s room instead?

Marcy looked at her, chewing her lip. “You don’t believe me,” she said.

Benson leaned forward and put a hand on her arm. “Marcy, I absolutely _do_ believe you,” she answered. “I know that you were assaulted. I’m just trying to piece together what happened so that we can make sure he doesn’t—”

“I had to go to the bathroom,” Marcy cut in. “I didn’t want to go there in the men’s dorm, and I started to leave but I didn’t know where to go and I had to pee really bad, so I went back. I asked a guy to make sure no one was in there, and he said there wasn’t. I used the bathroom and then went to the RA.”

Benson hesitated. “Okay,” she said. “Did you see or talk to anyone else?”

“I mean, I guess most everyone was in class? I didn’t really see anyone.”

“No one was in the bathroom when you went in?”

“No, the guy checked first.”

“No one came in while you were in there—the guy you asked, maybe? Did you get his name?”

Marcy made a sound of irritation. “No, I didn’t ask his name. I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. I just wanted to get out of there but I had to pee. No one came in. I told you.”

“Okay, Marcy,” Benson said. “How long were you in the bathroom?”

She hesitated again. “I…was bleeding,” Marcy said. She looked down at her hands, and her face started to crumple. “It _hurt_ , so bad,” she continued, barely above a whisper.

Benson leaned closer, rubbing her back. “I know,” she said. “And I’m sorry to bring you in here today.” She’d showered and changed clothes, at least, since leaving the hospital. “The sooner we get…” She trailed off, pulling her hand back as Marcy turned her phone over to look at the screen. Benson saw a name: _Alex_. Then she looked away as Marcy swiped the screen with her thumb and typed out a quick text.

Franklin was headed toward them, so Benson turned as she got to her feet. He glanced toward Marcy and motioned Benson forward, before saying in a low voice, “Your detectives say they can’t put a lineup together.”

“Not on such short notice,” she said. “We barely have enough people to—”

“I don’t like this case,” he interrupted, and she ground her teeth together. “If she makes a good ID, I’ll get him arraigned and see if I can salvage it.”

She waited, letting the silence stretch. He stared at her, frowning, his impatience darkening his expression. “I just wanted to make sure you were finished?” she said, pointing at his chest and raising her eyebrows. “Okay, then. Let’s take this one step at a time, shall we?” She turned her back on him, and said to Marcy, “Are you ready?”

Marcy stood and put her phone in her back pocket. “Yeah,” she said, smoothing her shirt nervously. “He can’t see me, right?”

“That’s right,” Benson said, leading Marcy past Franklin. Barba and Martinez were waiting for them, and Marcy stepped up to the glass cautiously. Dickie was alone in the room, at the table with his head in his hands, again. Martinez reached up and tapped his knuckles against the glass, and Dickie raised his head.

“He knows I’m here, now,” Marcy muttered, crossing her arms as she looked in at him. Dickie’s gaze skated across the window, and they saw him swallow.

Benson thought he might say something—apologize, or try to explain—but he sat in silence, only his expression relaying his regret. “It’s okay,” she told Marcy. “Just take your time, see if you recognize him.”

“Of course I do, that’s him. Rich. He…raped me…” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, hugging herself. “He looks…younger. Smaller.” Then, quietly, “He looks sad. Maybe I…” She didn’t finish that thought, though.

Benson met Barba’s eyes, and she knew what he was thinking; she was thinking it, herself. Something was off. Benson might chalk her own doubts up to compromised objectivity, but she trusted Barba’s judgement. He thought Dickie was innocent, and there were red flags in Marcy’s story.

She was raped, though; of that, Benson had no doubt.

Marcy turned her back to the window, chewing her lip. “What happens now?” she asked.

“He’ll be processed and held until his arraignment,” Benson said.

“But what do I have to do?” Marcy asked, hugging herself.

Before Benson could answer, Franklin said, “We’ll have to go over your testimony, of course.”

“I have to testify?” Marcy asked, glancing around as her arms tightened around herself.

“Of course,” Franklin said. He glanced at Barba and added, “We’ll talk at my office. I’ll make arrangements with Lieutenant Benson.” With barely a look at Benson, he offered Marcy a brief and insincere smile, and said, “Good job, today, Ms. Phillips. I’ll be in touch,” before turning and striding away. Benson, Barba, and Marcy all stared after him in silence as Martinez started toward his desk.

“I’m sorry about him,” Benson told Marcy, on impulse. She shook her head when the younger woman looked at her. “He’s a little…rough, but he’s good at his job. I promise you, we’ll figure—”

“You’re Rich’s lawyer?” Marcy asked, turning her gaze to Barba. He looked startled, and Benson knew that it had just occurred to him—as it had to _her—_ how inappropriate it was for him to be involved in the conversation. Even Franklin’s glance at Barba hadn’t really brought it home. The truth was, they’d spent so much time together with victims, so much time on the same side, that standing side by side in front of Marcy felt _natural_.

Barba cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket. “Yes, sorry, I should—”

“Are you good at your job, too?” she asked.

“Ms. Phillips, I am very sorry for what happened to you,” he said. Before he could say anything else, Marcy spoke again.

“When I was in the bathroom, I was sitting there, and I was crying because it hurt so bad, and I saw this little shiny thing on the floor. It was a razor blade. Just a loose razor blade sitting there up against the wall where someone must’ve dropped it. And I thought about how easy it would be…How it would probably hurt less, actually…But I was too scared. Too weak. I left it there. And here we are.”

“That’s not weakness, Marcy, that’s strength,” Benson said. “You did a brave thing, coming forward.”

“I should’ve never come out of the bathroom,” Marcy answered, quietly, looking away. “Can I leave, now?”

“Marcy, I don’t think you should be alone,” Benson said.

“I won’t be alone.” The girl glanced at her, and away. “I promise, I’m not gonna off myself or anything,” she added with a little laugh. “It’s too late for that.”

Barba pulled a card from his inside jacket pocket. “Ms. Phillips, you’ve been through something very traumatic,” he said, handing her the card. “This is a therapist who specializes in the sort of trauma you’ve experienced. If you need to talk to someone, please call her.”

Marcy took the card, but she said, “So you can use that against me in court? Say I’m crazy or something?”

“I’m only interested in the truth,” Barba answered.

Marcy snorted and turned away, sliding the card into her pocket. Benson motioned for Johnson, who started toward Marcy.

“I’ll be in touch with you,” Benson told her as she walked away.

“Yeah,” Marcy answered without looking back.

Benson shot Barba a quick look. “You have therapists’ numbers in your pocket, now?” she asked. Before he could answer, Martinez had rejoined them, and Benson told him: “Get on the radio to CSU and have them check out the bathroom in Dickie’s—Richard’s dorm.”

“The whole bathroom? Of a boys’ dormitory? It’s probably wall-to-wall sweat and semen,” Martinez said.

“Thanks for that,” Benson said. “Just make sure they’re thorough and the quicker they can get back there, the better.”

“Don’t we need a new warrant?” the detective asked.

Benson looked at Barba. “An argument could be made that the bathroom is part of his room, since he doesn’t have a private toilet,” Barba said. He bobbed his head to the side and added, “But an argument could be made that it’s public space. I’d recommend you get the school’s permission to search the restroom.”

“You’re helping us…figure out how to search…your client’s bathroom,” Martinez said.

“We’re all on the same side,” Benson said.

The detective looked at her, brow furrowed, and asked, “Since when are defense lawyers on our side?”

“Just do it, please,” Benson told him.

When the detective walked away, Benson suddenly found herself standing alone with Barba. She hadn’t meant for that to happen, and she felt a brief flare of panic. She shoved it down, not wanting him to see it in her eyes. She wasn’t afraid of him; she was afraid of saying something she’d regret, and she was afraid of making a fool of herself. She was afraid that he would look at her and all of her walls would come tumbling down, and she didn’t want that to happen. She couldn’t let that happen. She’d been burned too many times, and she wasn’t about to let it happen again.

“Is your headache any better?” he asked, quietly.

She looked into the interrogation room, where Dickie was sitting with his chin on his chest, his eyes closed. “What headache?” she muttered.

Barba laughed, a small sound that hurt her heart. It shouldn’t hurt so much, not after all this time. She’d moved on with her life, she’d accepted the fact that he wasn’t a part of it. Seeing him again, hearing him laugh, shouldn’t hurt so much.

“Thanks for the muffin. It actually did help,” she said, quietly, without looking at him.

“I wasn’t sure if your taste in coffee had changed.”

“No.”

He fell silent beside her, but she could practically hear his mind racing. She knew what he was going to say—what he was going to ask—next, she felt the words before they’d formed on his tongue, and she braced herself. She wasn’t going to cry, she promised herself.

“How’s Noah?” he asked.

“He misses you,” she answered, without hesitation.

“He probably barely remembers me, if…” He trailed off, and she knew he was biting his lip even though she wasn’t looking at him.

“I guess you didn’t realize how important you were,” she said, her lips barely moving. After a moment, she added, “To him.”

Again, silence stretched out. Finally, he said, “Did you get the presents I sent him?”

“Yes. He loved them. Thanks.”

She suddenly realized that she could see his ghostly image in the window, and their eyes met in the pale reflection. Her breath caught. She tried to think of something to say to break the moment.

“Did you meet Gloria?” he asked, and that did the trick. She blinked and focused on the room beyond his reflection.

“Yes. Did you know she was sleeping with him?” she asked, nodding toward Dickie. “It was months ago, she says.”

“No, but it doesn’t surprise me. Gloria doesn’t stumble over convention. She’s thirty-four and I’m sure she’s slept with more people than you and I combined.” When Benson turned her head toward him, he held up a hand. “I’m not judging her, more power to her, she knows exactly what she wants and she doesn’t hide it.”

_And you_? Benson thought. _Did she sleep with you_? _Were you one of the things she wanted_? She couldn’t ask that, of course. It was none of her business, and she didn’t want to know the answer.

“Boss?” Johnson asked, and Benson looked over at her. “I was going to give Marcy a ride home like you wanted but her boyfriend was outside, just so you know.”

“Boyfriend?” Benson asked, frowning.

“Yeah, Alex, I guess? Probably for the best, it’s a bad time to drive back into Manhattan, anyway.”

“Manhattan? What do you mean?” Benson asked.

“That’s why it took us so long to get back here. I thought she lived in the Bronx but her address was actually Manhattan.”

“They called the Bronx PD specifically because she said—You know what, never mind, thank you,” Benson said. Johnson nodded and walked away.

“You said yourself, Liv, victims lie all the time. You know she was assaulted. You just don’t know that it was my client.”

“Look, Barba, my job is to find out what happened to Marcy, remember? Peddle your defense somewhere else.”

He offered a small smile. “My instincts aren’t any better than yours, Liv, and you know it. You’re just doubting yourself.”

“You’re right,” she said, spreading her hands. “I’m not sure I can trust my objectivity. But what about you? You came here for personal reasons, too.”

“I came because Gloria asked me to, yes. I stayed because I don’t think he did it.”

“You’ve gone soft in your old age, Barba.” She bit back the rest of her remark— _Oh, wait, wasn’t there something about you turning into me?_ —because she didn’t want to turn the conversation to their goodbye outside the courthouse.

“It’s not the only reason I stayed,” he said, quietly. “No matter what you think of me, Liv, I’ll never be your enemy. Is the father still here? I only have a few minutes, I have an appointment, but I need to—”

“He’s in my office,” she said, turning away. He followed her silently through the squad room to her temporary office, where she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Stabler was on the floor, over near the right wall, doing pushups. He looked up at her entrance; he was sweaty, and breathing heavily, and had clearly been at it for awhile. He pushed himself to his feet and wiped his hands on his jeans. “You should fire whoever’s in charge of vacuuming,” he said.

“I’ll pass that along,” she told him. “We’re going to process Dickie, El. Franklin will hopefully have him arraigned tomorrow. You two can talk in here,” she added, motioning Barba forward. She looked at Stabler, who was now standing with his arms crossed, glaring at the lawyer. She looked at Barba, who was staring back at him. Both of them were smirking, and she rolled her eyes. “Don’t get any blood on the carpet, since apparently our cleaning crew is subpar. I can find you a tape measure, if you need?”

Barba laughed, little more than a huff of air, and Stabler’s smirk widened into a grin.

“Remember you’re on the same side, maybe?” she asked.

As she turned to leave, Stabler said, “Thanks, Olivia.”

She didn’t look back, but she hesitated when Barba said, “Liv.” She glanced sidelong at him. “The answer’s no.”

She met his eyes. She didn’t have to ask what the question was. She was tempted to say she didn’t care, but he’d know it was a lie. She considered saying _if I wanted to know, I would’ve asked_. She thought about pretending she didn’t understand.

She’d never lied to him, though, and even after all this time, she wasn’t willing—or able—to start. So, she didn’t say anything. She just nodded and walked out, closing the office door behind herself.

So, he hadn’t slept with Gloria Griggs. Yet. But what did that matter?

 

*       *       *

 

“I’m not interested in fighting you,” Stabler said.

Barba flashed a quick smile. “Good to know,” he answered.

“Are we good, then?”

“We don’t need to be friends, Mr. Stabler, I just need to know that you won’t interfere in my defense of your son.”

“What if I’m not sure your heart’s really in defending him?”

Barba suppressed a sigh. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t,” he said.

“No? I can think of another reason for you to stay.”

Barba held his gaze. “Why don’t you say what you mean to say,” he suggested.

“You almost punched me in the face earlier, and no offense, you don’t seem the type.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“No? Well, you were right to want to defend her, I was out of line. I shouldn’t have said it. But you don’t have to worry about me and her. She knows who I am.”

“Her relationships are none of my business.”

“Really? One comment and you were—”

“It wasn’t just a comment, and you know it. You chose your words specifically to hurt her.”

Stabler was silent for a few moments. “Were you screwing her?” he asked.

Barba knew that the crudeness was intentional, an attempt to get a reaction. It almost worked, but he managed to bite back his retort. He tried to remind himself that the man before him had once been Benson’s best friend and partner; he couldn’t be all bad, no matter how poorly he’d treated her in the end.

_How poorly_ he _treated her?_ Barba thought with an internal wince. He’d had plenty of time to compare himself to Stabler since walking away from her, and he knew he was now in no position to judge.

“You’re offended, I can tell. Go ahead and say it, I promise not to hit you.”

“She doesn’t need me to fight any battles for her,” Barba said. “Her relationship with you is her business.”

Stabler offered a fast, toothy grin, but his expression grew serious in a heartbeat. “She’s not as tough as she acts,” he said.

“She’s not as weak as you think,” Barba countered. He wasn’t angry; he was tired. He didn’t want to discuss Benson with anyone, but Stabler would be the last on his list. The conversation was inappropriate; it was irrelevant to the case; and it hurt a place deep inside of Barba. He was tired of the conversation, but _tired_ seemed to have become his standard condition.

Stabler tipped his head. “I never said she was weak,” he said. “I saw her kick the ass of a perp twice her size after—”

“I understand police brutality was more _your_ thing,” Barba interrupted. He didn’t mean to say it; he just wanted Stabler to stop talking about her.

Stabler smiled. “People change,” he said, quietly, and Barba couldn’t be sure if he was talking about himself, or Benson. Probably both. “Look, you seem to know things. So if you want to hate me, go ahead. Liv says I can trust you to watch out for Dickie, and…I want to believe her. But if you’re hung up on her, and pissed off at me, then how do I know—”

“I came _in here_ to discuss your son’s case,” Barba said. “If this goes to trial, I’ll fight like hell to prove his innocence to a jury, but you, you seem to think that Benson’ll railroad your son because of her feelings for you. Well, maybe people _do_ change, but I for one have absolute faith in her, her drive for justice and _truth_ , and if you’re asking if I would choose her side over his then you’re missing the point. She and I will always be on the same side of the law, and based on what she’s said of you, I believe you are, too. I’m done discussing her with you—it isn’t fair to any of us, least of all her. If you want to talk about building your son’s defense, then by all means, let’s. But now, I have an appointment. Call me when you’re ready to help. Otherwise, Richard and I will proceed without you.”

“Wait,” Stabler said when Barba started to turn toward the door. “I just have one more thing to say.” Barba hesitated, looking at him. “I don’t know what went on between you two but I know you were important to her and…you probably had to pick up the pieces after I quit the way I did.”

“I didn’t pick up anything,” Barba said.

“I’m trying to say thanks, for being there for her,” Stabler said. He didn’t miss the little wince that Barba tried to hide.

“Maybe you hurt her but you didn’t break her,” Barba said. “She always picks herself up.”

“It’s a shame she thinks she has to,” Stabler answered.

Barba swallowed. He hesitated for a moment, meeting the other man’s eyes. “She always _has_ had to,” he said. In that instant, understanding passed between them. They might never be friends, or even see each other again after the case was closed. They were certainly almost as dissimilar as they could be. They shared something, though: a lack of self-preservation. They’d both hurt Benson in an effort to protect her from themselves and their self-destructive tendencies; they didn’t need to explain this to each other, and the recognition didn’t have to make them like each other. “You have my number,” Barba said. He opened the door and strode out of the office, glancing around. His eyes landed on Benson, who was bent over Johnson’s desk, going over paperwork with the detective.

She looked up and caught his gaze. He offered a small smile; it was all he could manage. She nodded, once, and turned her attention back to the file. Barba walked out into the hallway. As he stood in the elevator, watching the doors closed, he had a hollow ache in the pit of his stomach. The feeling was far from unfamiliar, but he couldn’t help wondering if he would ever see her again. He wouldn’t blame her if she asked to be taken out of the Bronx early to avoid him.

 

*       *       *

 

“Guess who I saw today?”

“Who?” Noah asked, looking up at her.

Benson hesitated for a moment. She hadn’t actually intended to tell him, but the words had just slipped out. She supposed she needed to tell _someone_ , and what was she going to do? Call Rollins at home, at eight o’clock at night, to say, _hey, guess what? I saw Rafael Barba today and I’m not okay?_

Benson knew that her squad—especially Fin, Rollins, and Carisi—had seen her struggling to hold herself together after Barba’s departure from the DA’s office and her life. Before that, Fin had seen her devastation over Stabler’s resignation and disappearance. Just because they’d seen her pain didn’t mean she was willing or able to discuss it with them, though. It had never been in her nature to open herself up and show the world her vulnerability—not even with her friends—but she’d become even more guarded after Stabler’s withdrawal.

She’d opened up to Barba, in spite of herself, and she’d barely thought about it. With him, it had been easy. They’d always been honest with one another, from the very beginning. Even in the end, when he’d walked away and left her crying outside the courthouse, he never lied to her. Unlike Stabler, he said goodbye. She saw his emotion and knew that he was breaking his own heart as well as hers.

She could’ve called out to him, begged him to stay. She could’ve voiced the things that he wouldn’t. She’d spent countless nights wondering what could’ve been, if she’d only swallowed her pride and asked him not to leave her. She knew, of course, that she shouldn’t have to beg someone to stay with her. She knew that she shouldn’t blame herself for him leaving.

But the truth was, every one of her relationships—romantic or platonic—had ended because of her. She’d eventually withdrawn from every one of them, or pushed them away. Even Stabler had left because of her. If she’d asked him to stay, he would’ve left anyway. She could see now, with the clarity of time, that their partnership had not always been healthy for either of them. His leaving had ultimately been for the best. She’d learned that she was stronger than she’d known, and she could see that he’d done well for himself in his years away from her and the NYPD.

All of her relationships ending had been for the best. She’d never been willing to commit to any of them, she’d never been willing to completely open up, and it would’ve been unfair to hold on just because she didn’t like the idea of being alone. She didn’t regret any of her relationships and she didn’t regret ending any of them. As painful as it had been—and often still was—she could see the positive in all of it, even Stabler’s disappearance from her life.

All of it, except Barba’s departure. So many nights, she’d lain awake in her bed, wondering where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, if he was happy. A part of her wanted to hope that he was miserable, but she couldn’t do it. No matter how angry she was, no matter how badly she ached to see him, she couldn’t hate him or even blame him. She couldn’t wish for him anything other than happiness.

Now, after all this time, she’d finally seen him, talked to him, and she knew for sure that he wasn’t happy. His departure hadn’t been for the best, not for either of them. She knew it, and it hurt, because it meant that all the pain, the sadness, the loneliness, it had all been for nothing. She’d been struggling for so long to convince herself that she was alright, that she’d moved on with her life. She’d almost convinced herself that he _must_ be happy, and if he was happy—if leaving had really been the best thing for him—then she would be happy for him in spite of her own pain.

There had always been doubt, though, and it had been fueled by his mother. Benson had gone to lunch with her probably a dozen times since last seeing Barba, and the two women studiously avoided discussing him. Benson could sense Lucia’s concern, though, even in the older woman’s silence.

“Mom?” Noah asked, and now Benson could see _his_ concern, as well. She realized she’d been lost in her own thoughts, letting the silence draw out. She forced a smile for her son’s benefit, but there was a small frown creasing his young forehead, and she knew that some of her inner turmoil must be on her face.

“Rafael—Uncle Rafa,” Benson said. She knew that Noah remembered him, and Barba had sent presents for the boy’s birthday and at Christmas, but Noah had stopped asking if the man would come by to visit. She supposed that was her fault; she’d tried to hide it, but Noah was an observant kid and must’ve seen that talking about Barba was painful for her. “I saw him today,” she said. “And also another old friend named Elliot, he used to be my partner for a long time.”

Noah hesitated, still frowning, before asking, “Did you tell Uncle Rafa I liked my presents?”

Benson smiled again, more genuinely, this time. “Yes. He asked how you were doing, and I told him you’re great, of course,” she said, and she was glad to see the boy’s expression change. As he smiled up at her, she added, “I’ll see him again tomorrow, if you want me to tell him anything.”

“Okay,” Noah said. She could tell he was thinking about it, though. He’d wanted to send a thank-you note to Barba after receiving each present, but the return address had always been Barba’s name with his mother’s address—and Benson knew that he wasn’t living with his mother. That meant that he either didn’t want Benson to know where he was, or he didn’t have a permanent address. Either way, Benson had not wanted to send him mail that he most likely didn’t want to receive, so she’d told her son that she wasn’t sure how to get in contact with the lawyer. It wasn’t a lie, although it felt like one.

Noah had accepted her at her word, despite his disappointment and the fact that he missed seeing Barba. Now, she supposed it might be cathartic for Noah to be able to write a note to Barba. There may not be another chance. This might be the only opportunity for all of them to get a little closure, and the thought made her stomach clench. She knew it was ridiculous, but she wasn’t ready to say goodbye again. Things weren’t the same, she knew they weren’t the same, but now that she’d seen him, it would hurt all over again to say goodbye.

It had been hard enough not to beg him to stay the first time. Now, it should be easier. So much time had passed; she’d survived without him. She shouldn’t even be considering such things, and yet she knew— _knew_ —that she would never _not_ want him in her life.

“Hey, how’d you like to sleep in my bed tonight?” she asked. Suddenly, the thought of lying awake, alone, was too much to bear. She didn’t want to burden her son with her neediness, so she forced a smile.

“Really?” he asked. He wasn’t allowed to sleep with her, usually, unless he was ill or had had a nightmare.

“Just this once,” she said, ruffling his hair. “It’ll be like a slumber party. Go brush your teeth and pick out which book you want to read.”

“Okay,” Noah said, hurrying toward the bathroom. His excitement made her happy, in spite of the other emotions churning inside of her. There wasn’t a day that she wasn’t thankful that Noah had come into her life. She loved him more than she’d ever thought it possible to love another person, and she couldn’t imagine what her life would’ve been like if she’d never met his biological mother.

Was it selfish, though, to want something more? To want someone by her side when she tucked her son into bed? To want someone to cuddle up to after a stressful day? To want to feel loved, unconditionally, by someone other than her son?

She could have those things, if she were willing to accept them. Brian Cassidy had once told her that she was the love of his life. Ed Tucker had asked her to start a new life with him, her and Noah, to become a family away from the job. There had been others, and there _could be_ others, but something had always felt wrong. Something had always felt _forced_. Some of her boyfriends had told her flat-out that something was broken inside of her, that she was incapable of giving and receiving love. She’d believed it for a while, but she didn’t believe it anymore.

Now, she knew what unconditional love felt like; she knew how it felt to receive it, and she knew how it felt to give it. She’d never been incapable of love. She’d just been looking for it in the wrong places for so long that when she’d finally stumbled upon it, accidentally, it scared her. Love might equal strength, but it also meant vulnerability.

 

*       *       *

 

When she opened her eyes in the morning, Noah was gone from her bed. She could hear him in the other room, even though he was clearly trying to be quiet. She sat up, yawning, and glanced at the clock. It was still early—her alarm wasn’t set to go off for another fifteen minutes. She’d lain awake most of the night, thinking, listening to her son’s soft and even breathing beside her, and she’d ended up getting around three hours of sleep. Even so, she was surprised that Noah had been able to creep from the bed without waking her.

She stretched, rubbing an eye with the heel of her hand as she walked into the living room. Noah was on the floor at the coffee table, with paper and markers spread across the surface. He looked up at her approach, and quickly leaned forward, covering the paper with his arms to shield it from view.

“Don’t look, Mom,” he said.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“It’s private,” he answered. He looked worried, clearly afraid that she would demand to see the paper. She hesitated. She didn’t want to invade his privacy, but she needed to know if something was bothering him.

“Why are you up so early, honey? Is something wrong?”

Noah shook his head, looking up at her with his brow wrinkled. “I wanted to make something for Uncle Rafa before you have to leave,” he said.

“Oh,” she replied, caught off guard. “Okay. I’m sure he’ll like that.”

“But I don’t want you to see, Mom,” he said, shifting a bit, his agitation growing. “It’s private, okay?”

She hesitated again.

“Please?” he added, and she couldn’t deny the plea in his expression.

“Alright,” she said. She had no idea what he wanted to say to Barba that he didn’t want her to see, but it was clearly important to her son. He’d crawled from bed, gathered his supplies, and set about making…whatever he was making. So, no, she wouldn’t force him to let her see, although her curiosity was certainly raging.

“Okay,” he said, and she could see his relief.

She hadn’t gotten enough sleep, and she knew it was going to be a long day. Maybe Noah’s preoccupation was a blessing. “While you work on that, I’m going to take a shower,” she told him, hoping that she’d have more than fifteen minutes without interruption.

 

*       *       *

 

When Benson stepped out of the elevator, her gaze immediately scanned the squad room. She didn’t want to acknowledge the disappointment that settled over her as she walked toward her office. She knew that, no matter how tired she was, she had to maintain better control over her emotions than she had the day before. She’d been in shock, then. She’d since had time to gather her thoughts a bit, and she had a job to do.

“Lieutenant,” Martinez said, approaching her outside her office. “Richard Stabler’s on his way to arraignment, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to be there.”

She glanced at her watch. They had far too much work. “That’s alright, thanks,” she said. “Have we heard back from the lab?”

“They did find blood on one of the toilets, and floor, not much, preliminary match to Marcy Phillips but even if they get a positive ID, she did say she was bleeding. The garbages were already gone so if there was anything there…”

She nodded, letting out a breath. “And of course there are hundreds of fingerprints. It was always a long shot. From the bed?”

“No blood. Some fluids, no semen. There were two condoms in the trash. DNA from Richard Stabler and Marcy Phillips, but he admitted to intercourse.”

“Two?” she asked after a moment’s thought. Martinez nodded. “But no blood? Not on the condoms or the bed?”

He shook his head. “Look, I should tell you…Franklin pulled me and Johnson aside this morning, and…he questioned your objectivity. You used to work together with the defense lawyer, the suspect’s father used to be your partner, I mean, I get his point. But he wants to push this case forward and he suggested that Johnson and I should take over the investigation.”

“Maybe you should,” she said, and she saw his surprise. She held up a hand. “Look, I’m only here for a couple more days. You have to deal with Franklin all the time. Putting that aside, though, if you have doubts about my objectivity, you’re not alone, believe me. If Franklin wants you—”

“With all due respect, Lieutenant, I don’t work for him,” Martinez said. “I work for you, until the chief or my captain tells me otherwise. And I said I can see his point, not that I agree with it. I haven’t seen anything to make me think you won’t do your job. Investigating her story is part of our job.”

Past him, Benson saw Gloria Griggs stepping out of the elevator, and her stomach clenched. Gloria’s gaze found hers, and she started walking toward Benson and Martinez. Benson considered asking Martinez to deal with her, take whatever statement the woman needed to give, but she shoved the unprofessional and uncharitable thought away.

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” she told Martinez. “Excuse me, please,” she added, and he looked back to see Gloria’s approach.

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” he said, before walking toward his desk.

“Ms. Griggs,” Benson said, stepping forward. “How can I help you?”

“Gloria,” the other woman answered. “And…I wondered if I could talk to you?”

“Sure,” Benson answered, holding out a hand to gesture the woman toward the office. Gloria walked in and Benson followed her, closing the door. “Have a seat,” she said, walking around to sit behind the desk. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Gloria said, lowering herself into a chair. “I found a young man who says he talked to Marcy outside the bathroom.”

Benson leaned forward. “That’s very helpful, actually,” she said. “Can you tell me his name?”

“Yeah, here,” Gloria said, handing over a slip of paper. “All his info.”

Benson sent a quick text to Martinez, copying the handwritten information and asking him to go interview the young man. “You could’ve called, or texted this to me,” Benson said, looking up as she set her phone on the desk. She noted that the other woman seemed just a bit nervous. It was subtle, but noticeable because it was out of character.

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” she answered, after a few beats of silence. Benson waited. She knew things were about to take a personal turn. She tried to brace herself. “I don’t find myself in this position often,” Gloria started, shifting in her seat.

“What position is that?”

“Feeling a need to apologize,” the other woman said. “What I said about you being there with Rafael—”

Benson held up a hand. “Please,” she said. “We don’t need to talk about this. That was a long time ago—”

“I talked to him last night,” Gloria interrupted, and Benson closed her mouth. “I asked him about you. He said he didn’t know you were here,” she said, gesturing toward the room. “But then he just…shut down. He’s a private person, anyway, hell, I hardly know anything about him and I’ve worked with him for a year off and on. I’ve never seen him quite like that, though. It was like…just the mention of your name took something out of him.”

“So…you were with him,” Benson said, as Gloria seemed to confirm that her conversation with Barba had not been over the phone. Benson cursed herself for the lack of subtlety, but then she shrugged it off. Why should she keep hiding her feelings? Gloria’s opinion of her didn’t matter.

“He met me for drinks,” Gloria answered with a small shrug. “He usually says no, but I think he needed the liquor more than my company. Look, here’s the thing,” she said, leaning forward and putting her elbows on her knees while she regarded Benson. “I looked you up after I got home. I got pulled into a rabbit-hole, let me tell you. All the cases you worked together, press conferences, trials, you probably can’t even imagine how many pictures there are of the two of you together. Google one of you and you’ll likely get a picture of the other.

“Up until his trial,” she added. “Now, I don’t know what happened between the two of you and it’s none of my business. I imagine it was probably his fault, or at least he thinks it was. I just…wanted to say that…there’s never been anything between us, nothing but friendship and a working relationship. That wasn’t for lack of trying on my part, believe me. If I thought he were remotely interested, I might even consider rethinking my positions on commitment because God knows he’d make someone a great husband or partner if he weren’t so hellbent on being lonely and miserable.”

Benson swallowed. “Lonely?” she asked after a moment.

“Loneliest person I know,” Gloria said with a small sigh. “Which is a shame, because he’s also the most generous. He’d give the shirt off his back. We’ve done charity work together, and seeing him with the kids…is the only time he ever seems to really smile. He jokes around with them, even plays basketball—”

“Barba? Basketball?” Benson asked, unable to hide her surprise.

“Anything the kids ask, he says yes,” Gloria said, and Benson had to smile at that. “But there’s something. And I thought…I mean, I’m sure I’m out of line, it’s certainly not the first time I’ve stuck my nose where it doesn’t belong, but I care about him. And I think you do, too. So I just wanted to show you something.” She pulled out her phone and unlocked it. Benson waited with trepidation, unsure what to expect, as Gloria got up and walked to the desk.

Gloria set her phone on the desk and slid it toward Benson. The screen was filled with a picture of Barba and Benson in front of a row of microphones. Barba was talking, his face full of anger, his eyes bright as he regarded the press. Benson felt her chest tighten at the sight; she could remember how it felt, listening to his passion, hearing him take confident command of the English language and use it to convince everyone around him.

Gloria swiped the screen, and another picture appeared. This time, Barba was laughing, standing on the steps of the courthouse. Benson was beside him, grinning at him. “Keep swiping,” Gloria said, straightening, but Benson hesitated. Did she want to look at pictures of herself with him? Did she want to keep subjecting herself to the bittersweet pain of nostalgia?

She reached out a finger and scrolled to the next photo. Her breath caught in her chest. Someone had snapped a picture of them hugging after his _not guilty_ verdict. It was a moment she’d never seen, a moment she’d never known had been immortalized outside her own memory. She stared down at herself, holding him, and she could feel the same relief she’d felt then. And Barba, he was holding onto her as though his life depended upon it, clinging to her. In that moment, the rest of the world hadn’t mattered to either of them, and that was apparent in the candid snapshot.

Benson felt the tears coming, again. She didn’t even try to fight them back. She scrolled to the next photo. Barba was standing with Gloria and a group of several kids on a basketball court. It was a bright day, and their eyes were all squinted against the glare of the sun. Everyone was smiling, including Barba. There was something subdued in the curve of his lips, though. Benson peered at his face; she couldn’t see the expression in his eyes, not clearly. She went to the next picture.

This time, it was easy to see that the smile fell short of his eyes. She kept going. Gloria’s point was obvious, and Benson finally pushed the phone away, feeling ill. She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. “It’s not my fault,” she murmured.

“No,” Gloria said, sounding surprised. “No, that’s not—I didn’t come here because I think _you_ owe _him_ anything.” Benson opened her eyes and looked up at her. “I wanted you to know that…whatever happened, you were important. _Are_ important. That he’s…not the same without you beside him. You can see for yourself. There’s no _passion._ I would never suggest you forgive him, for God’s sake, especially not without knowing the whole story. I just thought…I’m sorry, but…I just had this feeling like…you might not know…how much you mattered.”

Benson struggled for a few seconds before managing, “Thank you. I know, though.” With Stabler, she’d been left to wonder for years how she could have meant so little, how he could’ve left her behind without a second thought. With Barba, she’d never had those doubts. She’d always known that walking away had broken his heart. That knowledge had never made the pain any easier to bear. “He thought he was protecting me,” she said, the first time she’d ever admitted the knowledge aloud. “And I had too much pride to ask him to stay,” she added, putting her hands over her face.

Gloria put a hand on her shoulder. “We shouldn’t ever have to beg people to stay,” she said, quietly.

Benson pulled in a shaky breath and lowered her hands. “I know,” she answered. “It’d be a lot easier to accept if I’d believed for a second that he actually wanted to leave, though.”

Gloria chewed her lip for a moment. “I hope I didn’t make it worse,” she said, indicating the phone in her hand.

Benson shook her head. “I appreciate you coming in,” she said. “Really. I’ll be back in Manhattan before this case goes to trial, and…I’m not sure I can handle another goodbye.” She wasn’t sure why she was opening up to this woman, a stranger, about things she’d never told anyone else.

“I don’t really know you, but I’m certain you can handle anything you put your mind to,” Gloria answered with a smile. “I think you and I could be friends. Or more than friends, if you were interested,” she added.

Benson smiled in return. “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, and Gloria laughed. Benson sighed. “To be honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever have the energy for another relationship,” she admitted. “Or want one,” she added.

“A little casual sex can go a long way,” Gloria told her with a wink.

Benson laughed and bobbed her head to the side in a gesture that reminded Gloria of Barba. “Maybe once,” she allowed, “but I think those days are past.”

“Well, if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me,” Gloria said.

“Thanks,” Benson answered. “I’m sorry I hated you yesterday.”

Gloria laughed and said, “Don’t worry, it wasn’t _that_ obvious.”

 

*       *       *

 

Benson looked up and saw, through the office window, Barba stepping out of the elevator. Her sudden and overwhelming rush of relief made her sit back in her chair. She didn’t want to admit how worried she’d been that she would never see him again—or how she’d almost convinced herself that his return had been a product of her imagination.

He was headed toward the office, but she didn’t get up. She waited for him. The blinds were open, and he looked at her before knocking lightly on the door. She nodded. He opened the door and stepped inside, but barely. He held the edge of the door with his hand, nervously pinching at the wood.

“I just wanted to let you know that Elliot posted bail for Richard. He’ll be out in a couple of hours. I don’t think he’s a threat to Marcy, but…” He trailed off and she nodded. He cleared his throat. “Feeling better today?” he asked, gesturing toward his head.

“Yes. Thank you,” she said.

He sniffed, glancing around the room. “Liv, do you…want to talk to me?” he asked.

“We’ve been talking,” she said. She wasn’t being intentionally antagonistic. She wasn’t angry, just tired. She didn’t have the fortitude to delve into a conversation with him, not now.

“If you want to say something to me…” He hesitated. “ _Whatever_ you want to say to me…you deserve the chance to say,” he finished quietly.

“Well, I appreciate that,” she said, with only a hint of sarcasm. “I don’t want to fight with you, Barba. Or yell at you, if that’s what you think. I’m just…” She spread her hands and let out a breath. “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night,” she added, as though that actually explained the bone-deep weariness.

“I talked to my mother last night,” he said. “She told me that you’ve been having lunch every month.” Benson could see the emotion etched into his expression, and she suddenly knew why he’d gone for drinks with Gloria.

“I’ve always liked her,” she answered, because she knew that he was struggling to find the words to express his gratitude. “Don’t worry, we actually never talked about you. Oh, I forgot,” she exclaimed, getting to her feet. She walked over to her purse, hanging on the coat rack, and pulled out the manila envelope addressed to _Uncle Rafa._ She handed it to him, and he turned it over in his hands, his expression tightening at the sight of Noah’s writing. “I don’t know what’s in there, he said it was private,” she said.

Barba looked up at her from under his lashes. They were standing close to each other, now. She could smell the familiar scent of his cologne. If she reached out to touch him, he wouldn’t stop her. She could hug him. She could hit him.

She did neither.

She looked away and cleared her throat. “I’m going to have Martinez take over Marcy’s investigation. He gets along better with Franklin, for one thing. Also, I’ll be back in Manhattan before the case goes to trial, if it does.”

“You can trust your instincts,” he said, quietly. It wasn’t the first time he’d said those words to her, and she walked toward her desk to put some space between them. She turned, sitting on the corner, and crossed her arms.

“Not anymore—not this time,” she told him.

He looked down at the envelope in his hands, biting his lip. “Liv, I—” he started, but he stopped and raised his head when she straightened. He looked over his shoulder, following her gaze, and saw Stabler coming toward them.

Benson moved past Barba and through the door. “Is something wrong?” she asked. The sight of Stabler brought no anxiety, or pain, or sadness; not anymore. She was relieved to find that she could look at him without feeling those things. There was only understanding, now, and a familiarity that was unchanged by the passage of time.

“No,” he said, offering a smile. He nodded at Barba as the lawyer followed her out of the office. “Dickie’s coming back to my place for now. He knows he can’t contact Marcy but I wanted to let you know I’ll make sure of it. And give you my address, just in case. He won’t be going back to school until all of this is over.” He handed her a business card with his home address written on the back.

“You could’ve texted me,” she said, the same thing she’d told Gloria Griggs.

“Yeah, well,” Stabler said, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. “Look, Franklin said he was going to ask to get you taken off the case. Said he talked to your detectives. I thought you should know.”

Benson smiled. “They told me,” she answered. “Thanks, though. Anyway, I decided to take myself off. Martinez will be heading it up until the captain gets back, then it’s up to him.”

“Don’t let that prick—”

“El, relax,” Benson laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “I can take care of myself, remember? I’m not intimidated by Al Franklin, trust me. Let him think he won something here, if he needs to. It doesn’t matter, it’s better this way. You and Barba can concentrate on Dickie’s defense, and Martinez and Johnson can focus on Marcy, and between the four of you, I have no doubt the truth will come out.”

“Listen, the girls want to see you. I told them, maybe after this is over, you can bring Noah by for dinner. See how grown up Eli is.”

She smiled. “I’d like that,” she said.

“Liv, I’m gonna go,” Barba said, beside her. She started to turn toward him.

“I’m looking for Marcy Phillips,” a voice said, and she looked toward the sound. “She said she was on her way here,” the man added. The officer he was addressing looked toward Benson, and she started forward.

“I’m Lieutenant Benson,” she said. “You said Marcy was on her way here? We haven’t seen her.” She glanced toward Martinez for confirmation, and he shook his head. “What’s your name?”

He was staring at her, and there was something about his expression that felt familiar. She didn’t think she knew him, and yet something niggled at the back of her mind. His gaze slid past her to Stabler, and she saw recognition in his eyes. She saw his jaw tighten, and she was instantly alert. “Alex Silver,” he said. The name didn’t ring any bells, but she didn’t like the look on his face. “You’re the father,” he said, pointing at Stabler. “Your son raped my girlfriend.” He looked at Benson. “And what are you people doing about it?” he asked. “She thinks you’re looking out for her, and here you are, talking to her rapist’s father. And his _lawyer_?” he added, turning on Barba. “You like defending rapists? You going to put my girlfriend on the stand and call her a _liar_?”

Benson stepped in front of Barba, holding up a hand. “Calm down, Mr. Silver,” she said. “Why don’t you try calling Marcy?”

“I’ve been trying, she hasn’t answered since saying she was coming here,” he answered. “I heard they’re letting him out on bail. If you won’t do anything to protect her, I’ll take care of him myself.”

“Are you threatening my son?” Stabler asked, stepping forward. Benson grabbed him and yanked him backward, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Barba was still behind her. He’d taken a few steps back, and she was grateful to him for moving himself further from harm’s way.

“Your son’s a rapist,” Alex said, raising his chin and glaring at Stabler.

Martinez and Johnson were both approaching Alex, from behind, from opposite angles. Stabler started forward, again, and Benson pulled him back—again. She had just started to turn toward her former partner, to tell him to go stand beside Barba, when Alex lunged.

Martinez had drawn close, however, and grabbed him before he could reach Benson or Stabler. He turned the man and shoved him forward onto the closest desk, nearly knocking a computer off the edge. “Take it easy,” he said, his voice calm as he held Alex’s arm behind his back. Johnson stepped forward and quickly patted Alex down while Martinez held him in place. Alex wasn’t putting up much of a struggle, although he was offering a colorful string of curses.

“Clear,” she said, quietly.

Martinez pulled Alex upright, still holding his arm behind his back. “Let’s just calm down, alright, Mr. Silver?” he asked. “Are you good?”

“I’m fine,” Alex answered through his teeth, glaring at Stabler. Stabler, to his credit, had moved a bit closer to Barba, out of the way of the cops. Martinez released Alex’s arm but kept hold of his shirt.

“I understand you’re upset, Mr. Silver,” Benson said. “If you want to step over here, we can talk about—”

“Alex?” Marcy asked, and they all looked toward the sound of her voice. She was staring at her boyfriend, and the crowd of alert cops. Her expression was mostly one of alarm. “What are you doing here?” she asked, shaking off her surprise to hurry toward him.

Alex jerked his shirt from Martinez’s hold and turned toward Marcy, pulling her into a hug. He bent his head down and whispered something in her ear. Then he drew back. “I came looking for you,” he said. “Come on, you don’t need to deal with these people. We’ll talk to the lawyer.”

“Marcy,” Benson said, stepping toward them. “Do you want to go in my office?”

Marcy glanced at Alex, whose arm was now around her shoulders, and shook her head. “No, I just wanted to check in,” she said. “Rich was arraigned today, right?”

“You don’t need to say that animal’s name,” Alex said, squeezing her.

“Yes, he’s being released on bail but he won’t have any contact with you,” Benson told her.

“He better not,” Alex said, looking at Stabler.

“Marcy, why don’t we go talk,” Benson suggested, holding out a hand.

“No,” the younger woman answered, taking a step backward. Alex moved with her, glued to her side. “That’s alright.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure she’s sure,” Alex said. “Come on, babe.”

“Marcy?” Benson asked.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s all good,” Marcy said, forcing a smile. “Thanks.”

Benson watched them turn and walk toward the elevators together, and she hated the feeling of helplessness in her gut. She looked at Martinez, who nodded. They would look into Alex Silver, see if there was any history of violence. She turned her attention to Stabler. He raised his chin, ready for a confrontation, but that only made her laugh and shake her head.

“Some things really don’t change,” she said, and he grinned in response. She looked at Barba. “Are you alright?” she asked, even though Alex had gotten nowhere near him.

He met her eyes. He was about to say _I’m fine_. She saw his lips part for the first word. It wasn’t true, though. He wasn’t _fine_ , any more than she was. It would be a lie, and so he bit it back. Instead, he said, after several seconds, “I have to go. Thank you for this,” he added, holding up the envelope from Noah.

“I don’t know what’s in there,” she reminded him. “You might not want to thank me for delivering it.”

“I’m thankful no matter what’s in it,” he said. “I miss him.” He looked away, then forced his gaze back to hers with effort. “Tell him…” His tongue darted between his lips, moistening them. He swallowed. “Tell him I miss him and love him, Liv,” he said, and then he was walking past her, striding toward the elevators, and his name lodged in her throat. She wanted desperately to call out to him. He paused a few yards away and looked over his shoulder. “I’ll see you,” he said, and she felt cool relief wash through her. She swallowed his name and nodded.

And then he was gone.

 

*       *       *

 

“Hey, Liv, you alright?”

Benson looked up, startled to find Rollins in the doorway. “Fine,” she answered, automatically, the word leaving her lips before she’d even thought about it. “It’s good to be back,” she added, and at least that was the truth.

“Well, if you need to talk, you know I’m here, right?” Rollins asked.

Benson smiled. “I know. Thanks.”

Rollins left her alone, and Benson leaned back in her chair, looking at the pictures of Noah on her desk. Being back in her own office was comforting, like returning home, but it felt like a lifetime had passed. She hadn’t seen or heard from Barba in days.

She’d talked to Stabler, though, and knew that Franklin was pushing forward with the case in spite of Martinez’s best efforts. He’d done what he could, but he hadn’t been able to find any evidence that contradicted Marcy’s claims. If Franklin wanted to go to trial with a he-said/she-said case, Benson couldn’t stop him. Barba would destroy her story if given the opportunity, but Barba knew as well as Benson did that something had actually happened to Marcy. Neither of them wanted to see her become a casualty to Franklin’s rashness.

Benson sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. It wasn’t easy for her to admit that the case was out of her control, but she had to have faith in the people involved. She had to let them do their jobs.

Even a few years ago, this would’ve been nearly impossible for her to accept. She wasn’t the same person she once was, though. She’d learned something about accepting the things she couldn’t control.

 

*       *       *

 

She hadn’t seen Barba in weeks, now. She hadn’t heard from the Bronx detectives, although she’d gotten a few updates from Stabler. She’d given Noah the message from Barba, even though it had hurt to say the words aloud, and her son hadn’t mentioned the man since. Upon her return to Manhattan, Fin had said _what are the odds?_ None of them had mentioned Barba’s name after that first day.

She was on her way back from Columbus Park, where she and the detectives had spent most of the morning investigating an assault. She stared blankly through the windshield, mired in her own thoughts. Billy Joel was on the radio. Billy Joel always reminded her of Barba.

A horn honked, and she shook her head, suddenly bringing the world into focus. She frowned, shifting in her seat. She was on Centre St with no idea how she’d gotten there. She cursed herself for driving so obliviously. She turned right, toward Canal St, and took the next right onto Baxter, doubling back toward the park.

The Billy Joel song had ended, but the final words were echoing in her mind. _A bottle of red, a bottle of white. Whatever kind of mood you’re in tonight. I’ll meet you any time you want, at our Italian restaurant._ And there it was, on the other side of Baxter, as though the lyrics had conjured it.

Forlini’s.

She hadn’t been inside since her last meal with Barba, a lifetime ago. His future had been uncertain, then, but she hadn’t yet realized that it wasn’t going to include her. She thought of that hug, in the courtroom. She hadn’t asked Gloria to text the photo to her, but the other woman had done so, anyway. Benson was grateful. She’d spent a lot of time looking at it, lately, marveling at the purity of that hug and the comfort they’d been giving each other.

She passed Forlini’s with an ache in her chest.

She knew she would see Barba again; he’d promised not to disappear, even if he hadn’t said those exact words. She needed to think of what she was going to say when that moment came.

Pink was on the radio, now. _What about us? What about all the times you said you had the answers? What about us? What about all the broken happy ever afters?_

Benson was passing Columbus Park, again.

_What about love? What about trust? What about us?_

 

*       *       *

 

Benson looked toward the other side of the courtroom, where Dickie’s sisters were sitting. They were looking at her, and they smiled and waved. She smiled in return, lifting a hand. Their father wasn’t with them, and she wondered where he was.

Barba glanced at her with a brief nod as he walked past, but he didn’t say anything. He had to focus on his case, anyway, and she’d come to support Marcy. It was strange, seeing his profile instead of the back of his head; she was used to being on his side of the courtroom.

Marcy was going to be testifying soon, Benson knew that Barba wasn’t looking forward to cross-examining a young woman about her assault. Benson wanted Marcy to see her in the crowd, to know that she was there to support her. Even so, she still wasn’t sure about Dickie’s guilt, or Marcy’s version of the assault. She could only hope that justice was going to be served, for everyone’s sake. If anyone could get to the truth, it was Rafael Barba.

 

*       *       *

 

“Ms. Phillips, let me start by saying how sorry I am for what happened to you,” Barba said. He hesitated, shook his head, and amended, “What was _done_ to you. We heard the doctor’s testimony, and I think I can speak for everyone here when I say how sorry we are that you had to endure that pain, that trauma that most of us can’t even imagine.”

“Thanks,” Marcy said, shifting in her seat, glancing at the jury nervously. Her gaze slid toward Dickie, then quickly away, and landed on Benson. The lieutenant offered a small smile and an encouraging nod.

“You know my client, correct, Ms. Phillips?” Barba asked. “You told the police that you’d met him the weekend before your assault, that you’d gone back to his dorm…” He glanced toward the back of the courtroom, a small frown dipping between his brows, and Benson looked over her shoulder to see Stabler inside the doorway. “Is that correct?” he asked Marcy, looking at her before walking toward the tables.

“Yes. He was nice that weekend,” Marcy answered. “I…had a good time.”

“And that’s why you agreed to see him again,” Barba said. He turned toward her, nodding as he walked backward toward the audience. “We heard you testify that you were going to tell him that you didn’t want to start a relationship—that you thought he was more serious than you were?”

“Yes,” she said. “He called even after I didn’t answer his messages.”

“Message, right?” he asked, tipping his head. He reached back and took the folded piece of paper from Stabler. “He only left one voicemail, is that correct?”

“I guess so,” she answered.

Stabler looked at Benson, and she knew that he’d found something important. He gave his head a little shake and went to sit with his daughters. She thought about texting him to ask what was going on, and dismissed the idea. Whatever it was, she would know soon enough. Barba was quickly reading over the note.

He looked up at Marcy. “My apologies,” he said, but then he paused. He took a breath and adjusted his tie with one hand.

He looked over his shoulder at Benson, his eyes meeting hers.

Her heart stumbled before kicking into a gallop. In that moment, it was as if no time had passed. It felt natural, familiar, for him to look to her in a moment of doubt. She could see the apology in his expression. She saw his jaw clench in determination, saw the steely glint creep into his eyes. She knew he was about to tear apart Marcy’s story.

Benson nodded, once. It was all she could do.

He turned his attention back to Marcy and squared his shoulders. “Ms. Phillips, what’s your boyfriend’s name?” he asked.

Marcy blinked in surprise and licked her lips. Franklin said, “Objection, relevance?”

“Will be clear in a minute, Your Honor,” Barba said. With the judge’s permission, he looked at Marcy and repeated, “Your boyfriend’s name?”

“Alex,” she answered.

Barba nodded. “Alex Silver, is that correct? That’s the name he gave the police.”

“Yes.”

“Were you aware that wasn’t his real name?” he asked.

Benson’s heart was thudding, again. She wanted to look at Stabler, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Barba and Marcy. The girl looked suddenly terrified, and she licked her lips again, her eyes darting around the room.

Barba stepped closer to the stand. “He’s not here, Marcy,” he said, quietly. “What’s his real name?”

Marcy swallowed. She had tears in her eyes, but she seemed unable to look away from Barba’s gaze. “Alex Fuentes,” she said, barely audible.

“Alexander Fuentes,” Barba said, louder. “Do you know why he told the police his name was Alex Silver? Did he change it?”

She shook her head.

“I’m sorry, I need you to answer—”

“It was a fake name,” she muttered.

Barba nodded. “Why did he give the police a fake last name?”

Marcy was silent.

But Benson knew the answer. The pieces had finally clicked into place—the name, why Alex had seemed so familiar, why Marcy had lied so they would take her to the Bronx SVU instead of Manhattan. Why Alex had been so surprised to find her and Stabler there, in the wrong squad room. She did look over at Stabler, then, and found his gaze. She mouthed the name _Pedro Fuentes?_ He nodded. She turned her attention back to Barba and Marcy.

“Richard Stabler didn’t rape you, did he, Ms. Phillips?” Barba asked, his voice soft and kind. He dipped his head, holding her gaze. “I know you’re scared, and hurt,” he said. “But you said yourself that Richard Stabler was nice. That he was sweet. That he wanted a relationship, not a one-night stand. Does he deserve to be here, Marcy?”

“Objection,” Franklin said.

Marcy was looking at Dickie, though, and her face crumpled. “I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her face into her hands. “I didn’t…I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Tell us what happened,” Barba told her.

“When Alex was a kid, his father got arrested,” Marcy said, pulling in a shaky breath as she looked up. “I’m not sure what for, he never said. He just said the police framed him.”

“What happened to his father? Pedro, or Pete, Fuentes?”

“He was killed in prison,” Marcy answered. “Alex never got over it. He blamed the cops.”

Benson shook her head. She knew exactly what kind of man Pedro Fuentes had been, but that wasn’t the point. All that mattered now was Marcy’s story—and Marcy had gotten control of her emotions. Now that she’d started, it seemed like a relief to keep going, and the words seemed to spill from her at the slightest prompting from Barba.

“He spoke about it a lot?”

“All the time. He was obsessed with those cops. He kept articles about them. He talked about getting revenge. For a long time I thought it was just talk. He talked a lot, he didn’t ever do much.”

“Was he violent? Did he abuse you?”

Her face started to crumple, again, but she managed to get control. She sucked in a wet breath, nodded, and said, “Yes. I really thought he loved me, though.”

“You were afraid of him,” Barba said. “He controlled you, didn’t he, Marcy?”

Barba’s gentle tone brought tears to Benson’s eyes. She looked at Franklin’s back, but the ADA wasn’t making any effort to object. He was smart enough to see the case unraveling.

“Yes,” Marcy whispered.

“And you wanted to make him happy,” Barba added.

“I thought I loved him. I was stupid.”

“That’s not stupid,” Barba said. “He manipulated you. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that, Marcy.”

She shook her head. “But I’m not a good person.” She looked at Dickie and shook her head again. Dickie’s expression was sympathetic, which was too much for her. She looked away, back at Barba, and said, “I deserved it for what I’ve done.”

“Marcy, who were the cops who arrested Pete Fuentes? Who put Alex’s father in prison to be murdered?”

Marcy looked at Benson, and was suddenly speaking directly to her. “I swear I didn’t know when I first met you,” she said, tears spilling over her cheeks. “You weren’t supposed to be there. You weren’t supposed to be helping me. I didn’t know what to do. I thought he’d kill me. He _will_ kill me.”

Barba glanced over his shoulder at Benson, and quickly away. “Marcy,” he said, drawing the young woman’s attention. “Who put his father in prison?”

“Elliot Stabler and Olivia Benson,” she said. “It was him that Alex was the most upset with. He used to talk about going to his house, finding his family, all sorts of crazy things.” Benson looked over at Stabler and saw his throat working as he swallowed. She saw him put his arm around his closest daughter. “But then he came up with this plan to get revenge. He said…nothing would hurt him more—an _SVU detective_ —than having his own son go to prison for rape. He said it would destroy him and his family the way his was destroyed.”

“The first time you met Richard Stabler, Elliot’s son, that was planned? By Alex?”

“Yes,” she said, her gaze darting around the room. “He’d found out everything about him. And…I was supposed to…to sleep with him and then claim that he raped me. I told Alex that no one would believe me and he said that if Rich didn’t get violent, he’d have to make sure it looked convincing.”

“You and Richard went back to his room that first night.”

“Yes, but…he was so sweet…” she said, crying, shaking her head. “I couldn’t do it,” she said. She bit her lip. “I couldn’t do it,” she repeated. “I was supposed to meet Alex afterward, but…I told him that we didn’t have sex. I told him that Rich passed out drunk and I had to sneak out before his roommate got back. Alex was pissed.”

“What did he do?”

“What he always does,” she answered, hugging herself. “I hoped he’d drop it after that, though. But then Rich called and Alex heard his message about having a nice time, and wanting to see me again. I had to wait a week because of the black eye,” she added, and her matter-of-fact tone made Barba’s jaw clench; Benson saw the movement. “I never should’ve given him my number,” she muttered. “I just…For a couple of hours, I almost forgot…”

“He was nice to you,” Barba said. “He treated you well. You _liked_ him.” She nodded, more tears spilling over her cheeks. “And the following weekend? You went back to his dorm.”

“I almost told him but I thought Alex would kill us both. So I just pretended everything was fine. He was drunk—”

“Richard?”

“Yes, he was drunk, but just a little. Just enough so he fell asleep afterward. I was supposed to leave and go to Alex but I didn’t. I stayed there, all night. Alex texted me a few times, but I ignored him. I felt…” She looked at Dickie. “I felt safe,” she murmured. “I knew I was making it worse but I just wanted to pretend. I just wanted to stay there.” To Barba, she continued, “He was still nice in the morning, said he had to go to class but I could stay there as long as I wanted. I knew I couldn’t keep putting it off, though. One way or another, Alex would get his revenge.

“When I finally called him back, he was quiet. He told me to go to the men’s bathroom and he’d meet me there. I almost didn’t. I walked all the way to the front door, but…I was too scared of what he would do if I screwed up again. So I went back up and asked a guy to check if anyone was in there. He asked me if I was okay. I could’ve asked him for help. I could’ve called the cops. I could’ve left. But I’m not a good person. I deserve what he did.”

“What did he do?” Barba asked, even though everyone in the room knew the answer.

“He raped me in the bathroom. It was morning. The sun was shining through the windows. I could hear people outside, talking and laughing. Anyone could’ve come in, but no one did. They wouldn’t have seen us, but I would’ve known they were there. That was the point. He wanted me to know. That I belonged to him. That he controlled me. That he could do whatever he wanted to me, and no one would stop him. That I wouldn’t even be able to ask for help.

“But no one came in. He put me up against the wall in the last stall and held his hand over my mouth and nose so I couldn’t scream or even breathe and he raped me. He’d been rough, violent, during sex before, but never…I’d never felt anything like that. It would’ve been better if he’d killed me.

“When he was done, he didn’t even take the condom off. He zipped up with it still on. And he laughed, telling me to calm down, it was just acting. Just part of the plan. To stop crying and finish what we’d started. I wanted to kill him. And he left me there. I saw this razor blade on the floor and I wanted to kill myself. I thought about it for a long time. I think it was a long time. But I was too scared. Too weak. In the end, I did what he wanted me to do. That’s why I deserved it.”

Barba put his hands on the edge of the stand and leaned forward, ducking his head so that Marcy would look at him. “Nobody deserves that, Marcy. I promise you that he will pay for what he did to you. Manhattan SVU is picking him up right now.” Benson glanced at Stabler, who offered her a shrug and smile. “He won’t touch you again. Marcy, does Richard Stabler deserve this?”

“No,” she said, her voice cracking. She put her hands over her face and shook her head, looking at Dickie. “No. I’m sorry,” she said into her hands.

“Did Richard rape you? Did he hurt you?”

“No. I lied. I know I’ll probably go to jail and I don’t care. I’m sorry.”

Barba looked at Franklin, and said, “I think we all understand why you lied.” His gaze skimmed up to Benson, and for several seconds, their eyes held. _You did it_ , she thought. And then, _I never doubted you_. She knew it was true, even as she thought it. The information about Alex and his father had come from Stabler, but Barba was the one she’d never doubted.

He turned away, and Benson pushed to her feet. She offered Stabler a quick smile before slipping from the courtroom.

 

*       *       *

 

Benson had witnessed a lot of beautiful moments in her life, but few could compare to the sight of Dickie Stabler comforting Marcy Phillips outside the courtroom. Benson stood by the window, watching as the younger Stabler hugged her, telling her it wasn’t her fault, offering her absolution.

Benson was moved to tears by their openness, their emotion.

She managed a smile when Stabler walked toward her. “Guess your lawyer friend was pretty good, after all,” he said.

Her smile slipped a bit, but she nodded. “Told ya.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said. “We’ll get together, alright? You’ll meet Noah.”

“Name the time and place,” he answered. He held out a hand. She shook it without hesitation, but he pulled her forward into a hug. For several moments, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder, breathing in his still-familiar scent.

Finally, she took a step back and patted his chest, looking up at his face. “Take care of yourself, Elliot,” she said.

He smiled. “You, too, Olivia,” he answered.

“I always do,” she returned. She looked past him. Barba was standing in the hallway, tapping his briefcase against his leg, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ll see you around, El,” she said, stepping past Stabler and heading toward Barba.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Barba told her, watching Stabler rejoin his four eldest kids. “I just wanted to…”

“Say goodbye,” she guessed, trying to ignore the feeling of her heart cracking open.

He looked at her, his throat working as he swallowed. “Liv, I…I know it doesn’t help anything, but I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to take it back,” she said, barely aware that it was the opposite of what she’d told Stabler.

Barba’s face twisted in pain. “I wish I could,” he breathed. “More than anything in the world, I wish I could. I can’t take it back, Liv,” he said, his voice breaking. “And…you can hate me, you have every right, but Liv, I will always love you.”

She took a step back, suddenly feeling as though the air had been knocked from her lungs. They’d never said the words aloud, and now, to hear them as part of his goodbye, was too much. She shook her head, unable to speak.

He took a step toward her, holding out a hand, and she pushed at his chest, instinctively. He stepped back and lowered his head, closing his eyes as he let his hand drop to his side. If she let him hug her, she would never let him go. And, she realized, she was still unwilling to beg him to stay. No matter how much it hurt to say goodbye, she shouldn’t have to beg. She deserved someone who was willing to stay and fight.

“Go, if you’re going,” she said through numb lips.

He pulled a breath in through his nose and raised his head, looking at her. His eyes shone with unshed tears. “Always,” he repeated, quietly. Then, while her heart was breaking in her chest: “Goodbye, Liv.”

She watched him walk away. The pain was familiar, now, though no less intense. She knew she could survive it. She didn’t deserve it, though.

_And neither does he_ , she thought. _How did we let this happen?_

 

*       *      *

 

Benson had done a lot of thinking in the hours that had passed since the conclusion of Dickie’s trial. She knew she wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t always easy for her to admit when she’d made a mistake. This time, she could chalk it up to raw nerves and rawer emotions, even if those reasons didn’t excuse her.

She walked into Forlini’s and stopped, scanning the place. She knew he would be there, and she started toward him as soon as she’d spotted him at the bar. He was hunched forward, both hands curled around his glass of scotch. His sleeves were rolled up, his vest and tie gone, his collar unbuttoned. His hair was a mess, and his jaw was rough with graying stubble.

He sensed her approach, but he didn’t look up. Instead, he seemed to shrink further into himself. She stopped beside him.

“You weren’t trying to say goodbye,” she said, quietly. He closed his eyes, briefly, and shook his head. “I reacted…without thinking,” she said. “I was so afraid—”

“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head, still not looking at her. “You were right. I had no right to ask your forgiveness.”

“Come to a table with me, please,” she said. She turned and walked toward a booth without looking to see if he was following. As she slid into the seat, he put his glass on the table and sat across from her. He’d left his jacket, vest, and tie at the bar. “I have some things to say,” she told him. “If you’re willing to listen,” she added.

He nodded, once.

Benson took a breath, gathering her thoughts, and put her elbows on the table. “It’s no secret that I have trust issues,” she started. “Commitment issues. Problems opening myself up. Every time I ever have, I’ve been hurt. I used to trust Elliot with my life—there was no one in the world that I trusted more than him, and then one day he was just gone. He just left. I didn’t think I could survive, I didn’t think I’d ever get over it. And then you came strolling into my life, and before I even knew what hit me, I realized you’d made me trust you in spite of all my best intentions. You’d become my best friend without me even noticing. You’d become a part of me.

“You left, just like he did. To protect me. I get that. I understand it, but it isn’t fair. You didn’t want to pull me down, but you didn’t give me any say in the matter. You took away my choice. I never asked or wanted you to protect me, Rafael. All I wanted was to know I could trust you. You knew how hard it was for me to let people in, you knew that I loved you, that I believed in you completely, and you left like everyone else.

“I know I push people away—Lord knows, I’ve sabotaged enough relationships all on my own, but that was never the case with you. I never pushed you away. And what hurt the most was that you, you’re the one person I don’t believe has ever lied to me. Even in the end, you didn’t lie. You said goodbye, you didn’t just disappear. You let me know that your heart was broken. I spent so many nights, lying awake, hoping you were out there somewhere, happy, starting a new life. As painful as it was, I thought I could bear it if I at least knew that you were happy.

“You weren’t happy, though. And me, I’ve just been tired. Tired of feeling unimportant, unwanted, unlovable.” She saw him struggling to keep his face from crumpling. He wanted to give her the opportunity to say everything she’d come to say. “I blamed myself for not begging you stay, but I know you never wanted that. You thought I deserved better, that I’d be better off without you. You were wrong. I don’t trust anyone anymore. No one, not even my detectives, not even Fin, not completely, because I know that eventually even he’s going to leave. And Elliot? I second-guessed him from the moment I saw him, wondering if I knew who he was anymore. But you.

“You—I haven’t doubted a single thing you’ve said or done. Not once did I…not _believe_ you. That scares the hell out of me because I’ve been surviving without you. Noah and I have a good life together. I don’t need you in my life and I don’t want anyone around who wants to be somewhere else.

“Elliot broke my heart once, Rafael, but you, you broke _me_. Nothing has ever hurt me as much as losing you. But hate you? Not once, not ever. You were going to ask me for a second chance and instead, all I heard was the goodbye that I’d been dreading. For over a year, all I’ve wanted was for you to show up at my door saying you made a mistake, to ask for a chance to make things right. I would’ve let you in without a moment’s hesitation. Into my apartment, into my heart, into my life. One of those, you never left,” she added, with a small smile.

“When you finally tried to talk to me, I shut you down. I pushed you away.” He was shaking his head, but she continued. “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus, Liv, don’t apologize to me,” he said, hoarsely, as tears rolled down his cheeks. “Please.”

“I’ve said my piece,” she told him. “What happens now is up to you. Tell me what you want. Whatever you say, I’ll believe you.”

He stared at her with shimmering green eyes. “I’ve never deserved you,” he said, his lips barely moving. “Yet I’ve always wanted you, since the day I met you. Everything about you made me better, made me strive to _be_ better. But every time I did something reckless, you seemed to get caught up in the fallout. When you found out what I’d done—Do you remember what you said? _I have to fix this_. I called out to you, and you didn’t hear me. All you could think about was helping me, _saving_ me, and I knew that I couldn’t let myself destroy you. You were the only pure thing in my life.

“Walking away from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I hated myself for it. I just wanted you to be happy, Liv. That’s all I ever want for you. You deserve nothing but love and happiness. I was never good enough for you but you would’ve accepted me anyway, if I’d told you how I felt. You loved me as much as I loved you. I knew it but I was afraid to believe it. It felt selfish to want to hold onto you when I knew you deserved better.

“All I’ve wanted was a second chance. For you to forgive me and let me…try again.” He drew a deep breath, and she knew he was going to lay his heart before her. “Liv, I love you. I always have and I always will. I was stupid, and I hurt you, and I don’t deserve forgiveness for that. But if you let me back into your life, if you let me love you, I promise I’ll never leave again. I’ll never lie to you. I’ll never hurt you again. Let me be here for you and Noah.”

“Okay,” she said.

He looked at her, with his lips parted and his eyes shining.

He leaned forward, over the table. She cupped her hands to his cheeks and pressed her forehead against his, closing her eyes. They stayed that way, breathing in unison, barely touching, for a long time. Finally, she tipped her head, brushing her lips against his. The kiss was light, tentative—the first time their mouths had ever met. She touched her lips to his again, still holding his face, before pulling back a bit to look at him.

They searched each other’s eyes, each knowing exactly what the other was thinking. When he pressed his lips against hers, she opened her mouth to him. His hands went to her wrists, holding on to steady himself. He pulled back, just a fraction of an inch, just enough to murmur against her lips, “I love you, Olivia.”

“I love you, too,” she said, and finally, the last of the knots in her stomach loosened. She drew a deep breath, the first full breath she’d managed in a long time. She could feel the weariness sliding away, and the relief brought a smile to her lips as she kissed him again.

 

*       *       *

 

Noah’s note to Barba:

_Dear Uncle Rafa_

_This is Noah. I miss you a lot, but I don’t tell Mom. It made her sad when I asked about you so now I don’t. She misses you too. I hope you can come see me. I’m not mad at you. I hope you’re not mad at me._

_Love, Noah_

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a "smut addendum," if you will - a chapter that takes place after their scene in Forlini's. If you're interested, it's [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13906161/) :)


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